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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



BY 



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JOHN ALBEE 




APR 28 1883^ 

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NEW YORK 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

1883 



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COPYRIGHT 1883 

JOHN ALBEE 



Press of 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York 



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CONTENTS. 











PAGE 


THE PERFECT GIFT ... . . I 


EROS : BIRD-CATCHER 










3 


MAID AND BOY 










6 


A WINTER WALK . 










9 


RECOGNITION 










13 


URANIA . 










15 


INDIAN MAIDEN 










19 


SEVEN YEARS OLD . 










20 


MUSIC AND MEMORY 










23 


ROSE AND THORN . 










24 


LOVE MUST TEACH 










25 


TWO IN ONE . . 










26 


PICTURE OF A CHILD 










28 


love's CHOICE 










29 


THE ARBUTUS 










30 


THE SACRED ROCK 










• 31 


TANTALUS 










32 


WISHING — FOR A CHILD 










• 33 


WITH A ROSE 










34 


DREAMS . 










35 


LOVE-LETTERS 










37 


MY GUIDE 










39 



111 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



ars poetica et humana 
love's first doubt 

LONGING 

SONG . . . 

A TRIBUTE 

PORTRAIT-PAINTER 

NEW LOVE 

Ralph's love story 
at the play 

THE DAWN 
SONNETS 

artist's song 

timid love . 

strawberry season 

roman lovers 

flower of night . 

compensation 

the northern eye 

renunciation 

three ages . 

keats's love-letters 

at the grave of champernowne 

THOREAU 

OVID IN BANISHMENT 

A soldier's GRAVE 

THE SWALLOWS 

A FAREWELL . 

TO S. A. . 





CONTENTS, 






V 


PAGE 


TO THEODORA . . . ... -95 


WEEDS . 












. 97 


DANDELIONS . 












. lOI 


ROSE-GERARDIA 












I02 


SPENDTHRIFT 












104 


WANDERING . 












• 105 


MISS TIPTY-TOES 












. 106 


woman's fame 












109 


BEFIN 












III 


SONG 












. 114 


EDISTE . 












116 


THE ADVENTURER 












. 117 


CHAUNCY CREEK . 












123 


LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER 








127 


PARSON Moody's prayer 








132 


bos'n hill . . 








136 


RUTH GOUCH . 










138 


THE captain's OATH 










140 


In Memory of H. R. A. 










147 


NEW ENGLAND 










154 


PERSPECTIVE . 










156 


Epigrams and Inscriptions 






159 


OLD BOOKS — IN WINTER 






181 


St. Aspenquid of . 


Aga]v 


ienti 


cus 






i8s 



THE PERFECT GIFT. 



It was not much, I know, the single flower 

Which Spring, slow-footed, unconfirmed, dared 

trust 
Within her little garden, all her own, 
A periwinkle's blue in emerald set. 
But like all first things than their worth more dear 
It far outshone the wealthy summer rose. 
Well had that sunny girl her nursling watched. 
Still tending, hovering near, with soft, warm breath. 
More gentle far and constant than the Spring's, 
Until by her pure azure eyes transfused, 
It took their hue and flourished by their light. 
As once she led me down her well-worn walk. 
The while sweet vernal airs so filled my sense. 
And all my morning dreams so fresh, I thought 



2 THE PERFECT GIFT 

An angel led me back to Paradise, 

She plucked the flower still gemmed with drops of 

dew, 
And held it up to me with eager hands 
As I must take the giver with the gift. 
It was not much in worth, yet though so small, 
By so much more I knew her heart was great ; 
For who that loves not dare give little gifts ? 
This added to that common, lowly plant 
A fragrance and a color not its own ; 
And bloomed within the flower a flower unseen 
Except by those who bear it on their hearts. 
Sweet Rose ! fairest of girls ! whom I more love 
Than aught on earth, save her, my first, best love. 
Whose dearest arms, when night turns home my 

feet. 
Hold up her child and mine for my embrace, 

And child and mother, I enfold them both. 
And with one soul we three taste perfect bliss ! 



EROS: BIRD-CATCHER. 



I remember when a boy 
With what eagerness and joy 
All small and large birds I pursued, 
With one exciting hope imbued, 
O but to catch and hold just one ! 
A triumph greater seemed there none. 
For how they mocked me with the ease 
They winged the top of highest trees ; 
Or stream and field the other side 
Soon as my stealthy step had tried 
To reach unseen their hidden perch- 
Presto ! they left me in the lurch. 
Yet ever rose my heart within 
Some feeling we were kith and kin ; 
For though they suffered not my hand 



EROS : BIRD-CATCHER. 

Their wild notes I did understand, 

Which they would pour into my ear 

Until I came their choir too near. 

Their freedom touched me pensively, 

For as bird so full free was I ; 

But wings to use it wanted still. 

To fly not foot it up the hill. 

And I was more near to nature 

Than to book or fellow-creature ; 

Children, birds and I, together 

In that wondrous, spring-time weather. 

Time passed on, and I grew older ; 
The birds too more tame and bolder. 
Yield they to my least call or charms. 
Come wished or unwished to my arms. 
Their plumage now is far more gay 
Than in the old-time, childhood day ; 
Their notes are subtle, manifold. 
And twice they think to once of old. 



EROS: BIRD-CATCHER. 

But gone is that entrancing voice 
My. heart once madly made rejoice, 
And gone forever the delight 
In pressing after what takes flight. 



MAID AND BOY. 



Come, little maid, from youthful days. 
And let me paint you as you stood ; 

Your braided hair, your coyish ways, 

That would and would not when I would. 

Your gown of checkered calico, 
The tire of pink, I see them yet ; 

Your little shoes not made for show, 
The clean and scalloped pantalet. 

I played with you in sun and shade. 

By roadside, yard, and alder streams ; 

With many a brake and birch we made 

The woven house of fairy beams, 
6 



MAID AND BOY. 

Wherein we lived but for a day ; 

A sweeter spot on newer ground 
Allured us in the wooded way, 

And all was new we newly found. 

We knew not love, we knew not jar, 
All things created but for toys ; 

The world a just illumined star, 
And full of little girls and boys. 

Nothing was small to our great eyes. 
Nothing so common but we wondered ; 

One penny was a boundless prize 
To us, and five a little hundred. 

The nearest hills were mountains then. 
The meadow endless where we played ; 

I never thought to be like men, 

And always should the maid be maid. 



8 MAID AND BOY. 

But now I am a man become, 

And you a woman grave and sweet ; 

And I no longer lead you home, 

Or in the brook bathe your pink feet. 

What have we now that 's like the past ? 

Our guileless hearts knew not its name ; 
But blest are we to know at last 

That what it was, 't is still the same. 



A WINTER WALK. 



It is not often Sunday draws 

Me to that house where good men come ; 
Yet worship I, and the same cause 

Which sends them there keeps me at home. 

But on one holy Christmas morn 

I took an unaccustomed road 
To church, to hear how Christ was born, 

And how to walk the path He showed. 

I cheerful said, always some good 
Falls in our way, however vext ; 

Though scarce a worshipper, I would, 
If not a sermon, find a text. 



TO A WINTER WALK. 

O'er snow new-fallen pure and fine 
I walked the virgin world alone ; 

But soon a tiny trail crossed mine, 

And near, a field-mouse dead as stone. 

Clumsy with snow his little feet 

Had borne him just across the way 

In search of home^ or else to meet 

And feast with friend that Christmas-day. 

There in an inch or two of snow 
I found him in the morning sun ; 

Kis limbs were stiff, his head was low, 
His work, whate'er it was, was done. 

He held no backward-going pace 
But in his last endeavor died ; 

'T is well with thee, I tried to trace 
On the blank tablet by his side. 



A WINTER WALK. II 

Thence onward slow my steps I paced 

Beside the drooping evergreen, 
Or where the bare oak interlaced 

The sky that on it seemed to lean. 

These splendors passed, at length I near 
The church steps with the goats and sheep ; 

A goodly flock ! prepared to hear 

The tale that eighteen centuries weep. 

The preacher droned and canted well ; 

The men dozed off, the women stared ; 
Hurtled the dread words heaven and hell, 

But no one heard and no one cared. 

I not asleep, nor quite awake. 

Numbered the nothings of the house, 

Revolving which my text to make. 
The living priest or that dead mouse. 



12 A WINTER WALK. 

But ere the sermon had its close 

And picked each dry bone of the feast, 

The words reversed themselves and rose 
The living mouse, the phantom priest. 



RECOGNITION. 



Partly I saw but more I felt her fair. 

Such brows of gleaming white! and gleamed 
as well 
Her ear transparent, half hid in her hair, 
■ As shines in sea-weed a small rosy shell. 

Was any hope or fear in her begun 

That raised her eyes and breathed through all 
her breast ? 
Ages ago her soul with mine was one, 

Nor even halved by a corporeal vest. 

At last the hour was come in which I sought 
To cross her path, borne on by Fate's design ; 

But, held by all the power of subtle thought, 
I only told her eyes what shone through mine. 



14 RECOGNITION. 

How soon with one- quick thrilling glance she 
turned ! 

How well she knew this late, this old embrace ! 
The spirit's legend in the strange light burned, 

And all the past was easy to retrace. 

Led by the thread which destiny unrolls, 

Before our eyes have seen or ears have heard, 

We feel the presage of familiar souls. 

And all our being is with longing stirred. 

Our life's dark paths all lead one certain way ; 

Love draws us on to all that is our own ; 
We think we miss so much-— so oft we lay 

Our hearts in hands that leave us still alone. 

Before each shrine there was a song to sing ; 

And long I dallied with a phantom face 
That only taught me how this soul to bring 

Nearer to thine and its appointed place. 



URANIA. 



Thick grow beneath my feet the clover leaves, 
Yet I the four-leaved never chance to find ; 

Some blank and fatal number always weaves 
Its cipher strange on all my moody kind. 

But once by love my idle youth was stirred, 

When the heart yearns nor knows for what it 
yearns ; 

When w^e are captive to a glance or word 
From the same fire that in our bosom burns. 

That flame expires ; but life some glow retains, 

Beneath the ashes of the passions' strife ; 

In me the fond heart as of old hath pains, 

But hides like other men its inward life. 

15 



l6 URANTA. 

When comes the afternoon the day is done ; 

A gentler warmth, but no resistless heat ; 
From what proud heights looked down the radiant 
sun 

When first I, honored, sat beside her feet ! 

The ground with clover blooms was fragrant then, 
And all the happy flowers she knelt above 

Looked into eyes which made them bloom again 
And keep a longer sumrner for her love. 

Wave fell on wave of unbound, sunny hair ; 

And her faint eyebrow's pencilled curve was 
drawn 
Across a low, sweet forehead, chaste and fair 

As hers who hunts the deer at early dawn. 

Thenceforth such fearful hopes and hopeful fears, 
As all first lovers' eager hearts control, 

Rose in me day and night, in joy or tears. 
Till self was gone and she possessed my soul. 



URANIA. 17 

Nathless by thought infirm my fate I sealed. 

Would my unconquered take this gemmed ring ? 
Ah ! if at last herself she did not yield, 

Could I, ah ! could I do, undo one thing ? 

Could I act my part — oh ! would nature teach — 
If, sometime sitting in the falling eve. 

That strange prophetic silence we should reach 
Which holds the only word the lips must leave ? 

Oh, ere that pause be broke, and word be brought 
Upon thy parted lips, do thou restore 

My timid purpose in thy perfect thought. 

As soul calls back the doubting soul once more ! 

Why should I doubt the most what is most dear ? 

They say that love makes bold ; timidly I 
From all I most desire still most do fear. 

While pass the slow, swift hours unacted by. 



l8 URANIA. 

As two birds journeying from different lands 

Rest in the green-leafed tree, then hold their way, 

Each for some other home where fate commands, 
So stayed, so passed two souls one blissful day, 

Now hope and fear are dead — nor all, nor quite. 
For oft in dreams returns to me more sweet, 

Like distant music in a summer night, 

The love that bound me captive at her feet. 

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All passions, all desires return no more ; 

The beauty and the worth in her I loved 
Remade the world, and opened wide the door 

To realms of thought with calmer beauty 
moved. 



INDIAN MAIDEN. 



Stay, bright serpent, stay with thy splendid coil ! 
Stay till I weave for my lover and lord, 
. Of colors like thine a beautiful cord, 
His joy returning from hunting and toil. 

Ah, dear his love and precious is my own ! 

And I in one will bind them with this charm ; 

This glittering band I clasp around his arm 
When by its touch is loosed my virgin zone. 



19 



SEVEN YEARS OLD. 



Dear child, the wished-for day- 
Hath brought thee to the way 
Where the pretty tale is told 
That sums the joys of seven years old. 
All the fun and all the laughter, 
All the gifts that follow after, 
All the gentle friends who make 
Holiday for thy sweet sake 
Shall not fail thy three-week dream 
And counted days that weeks did seem, 
Both old and young do give thee joy, 
Thou wonder-eyed, enraptured boy ! 
And all shall taste again of heaven 
By being for this one day seven ; 
Turning once more the illumined page 
Whose pictures please at every age, 

20 



SEVEN YEARS OLD. 21 

Painted like stars on life's first sky, 
The symbols of immortality. 
If thou canst not write nor read 
Enough thou knowest for thy need, 
And some things would the wisest fain 
From all that golden time regain. 
For knowledge makes sad, not wise ; 
Over each stair still others rise ; 
Knowledge which ever keeps behind 
Our need— a sail, but without wind. 
Save as blow the fitful gales, 
When sage experience fails 
To teach us in length of years 
What shines through one hour of tears. 
Thou knowest in thy ready heart 
All we must gain by painful art ; 
And we, tracing the state of man, 
Gladly would end where we began. 
In love, in wonder, and in glee, 
From doubt and care forever free. 



2 2 SEVEN YEARS OLD. 

As mown meadows after bring 

To thought and sense a second spring, 

So let our first harvest tithe 

Meet time's unrelenting scythe 

And we will sow the fields of youth 

With purer love and newer truth. 

Thine shall be a happier fate ; 

Heaven prolong thy youthful state ! 

Nor ever leave thee memories 

Of days of pain and nights of sighs ; 

But the orange tree thy manhood suit, 

Bearing at once both flowers and fruit. 

O Boy, to thee are all things new, 

Creation fresh with Eden dew ; 

On its untrod, emerald floor 

The sun long shadows makes before, 

And ere those shadows fall behind 

Lovelier Edens may'st thou find. 



MUSIC AND MEMORY. 



Enchantress, touch no more that strain ! 

I know not what it may contain, 

But in my breast such mood it wakes 

My very spirit almost breaks. 

Thoughts come from out some hidden realm 

Whose dim memorials overwhelm, 

Still bring not back the things I lost ; — 

Still bringing all the pain they cost. 



23 



ROSE AND THORN. 



Cease, maiden, cease, no longer teach 
That tangled rose to twine the tree ; 

For when beyond thy utmost reach 
Sure it must droop and die for thee. 

Sir, it was left untrained and torn ; 

Rude winds its tender buds will crush ;■ 
But do come here ! pull out this thorn. 

You '11 find it by the finger's blush. 

Yes, here it is — nay, do not start. 

Never is thorn but pains when prest ; 

But he who takes away thy smart 

Will plant the thorn within his breast. 



24 



LOVE MUST TEACH. 



I want some newer way my heart 

To wear toward you ; 
So well I thought I knew my part 

Ere you I knew. 

Now every thing I thought so brave 
I would not have you see ; 

And all you are, is all I crave 
Myself to be. 

Oh, show me nobler life and speech, 
From my old self removed ! 

The way I know not ; love must teach 
How to be loved. 



25 



TWO IN ONE. 



In life they not divided are, 

One light they give like double star. 

Blest at their nuptials Hymen came 

His waning torch to reinflame, 

With youth and maidens in a train 

By that clear fire to plight again. 

No ill-encircling yoke they wear, 

To loose the one, the other tear, 

But with even step and measure. 

Bound alike in pain or pleasure, 

Ever matched in heart and mind, 

Builded to outlast their kind. 

Famous through long years' renown, 

Till all their perfect love be done ; 
26 



TWO IN ONE. 27 

And when life ends they shall have 
One undissevered, holy grave, 
Where lovers all, to latest age, 
Shall make their vowed pilgrimage. 



ON THE PICTURE OF A CHILD 
PURSUING LOVE. 



Leave, child, thy vain, heart-aching chase ! 

What canst thou know of Love ! 
Hardly may one of lordliest race. 

Or sceptred gods above. 
Parry the fall in that pursuit ; 

And thy too tender feet 
Will feel the thorn, and golden fruit 

Will roll before thee fleet. 
Which thou wilt never, never taste 

Though held within thy palm ; 
For whoso after Love makes haste, 

Makes haste to miss the charm. 



28 



LOVE'S CHOICE. 



Under the elms of Bellinghame 

I dreamed the dream years never lose ; 

Love, honor, riches, wisdom came 
And held their gifts for me to choose. 

Already one had chosen me ; 

But he may win the rest whose sail 
Hath found its way to that bright sea 

Where love is compass and the gale. 

What youth can dream or choose alone ? 

She chose who shared the vision's thrall ; 
She every gift renounced save one, 

But in her breast I found them all. 



29 



THE ARBUTUS. 

MANSiT odor: posses scire fuisse deam. 

This flower has lived and breathed and moved, 
And borne 'mong men a human name ; 

Nay more, it loved and was beloved, 
And filled the first world with its fame. 

It still might in our gardens thrive 
But that high love is out of date ; 

We rather choose to build and wive, 
And trade in souls at market's rate. 

She rather chose to be a flower. 
Hid in the deep and silent wood ; 

And only shows her perfumed power 
When lovers breathe its solitude. 



30 



THE SACRED ROCK, 



Below the mbssy wall and ancient pine 
Love held me long within his wonted arms 
And spoke but little ; but the silence spoke. 
He only said : ^^ Would thou wert wholly mine ! " 
Then I left all, gave love for love, and more, 
For faith I gave, unasked, unwished of him. 

Here on the tabled rock I sit alone, 
And weep to think how Love has stole away ; 
And only faith clings sadly in my heart. 
Unsure if e'en that piece of wasting wreck 
Will reach the shore or sink beneath the waves. 



31 



TANTALUS. 



Unloved is the lover, 

His mistress retreats ; 
She loves another, 

But her love he cheats. 
Shadows shadows chase ; 
Pursuing or fleeing, 
The seeming and being. 
The never agreeing. 
In round ever pace. 

Ever between man and his star, 
The soul and its place, 

Rises the inexorable bar. 



32 



WISHING. 



FOR A CHILD. 



The gods do give you what you will, 
Trust me, child, be it good or ill. 
Unwillingly the ill they send 
And in strict degree ; 
The good they treasure 
And grant, though slow ; but they intend 
The liberal hand to hide from thee — 
They hide it in a heaping measure. 



33 



WITH A ROSE. 



Breathe, timid flower, thy sweetest breath 
When she bends down her head ; 

Blush, bashful rose, the tender vows 
That over thee were said. 

Whisper of all I cannot speak, 
The thought which has no sign ; 

Unfold thy leaves, thou gentle rose. 
And show my heart in thine. 

Rest thou where I would ever rest ! 

Thou shalt not be forsworn ; 
Go, envied rose, and seek her breast, 

Be worn where I am worn. 



34 



DREAMS. 



Dreaming in the night 

A happy dream ; 
By day my heart is light, 

My heart is light. 
Oh, ever come the night 
And ever let me dream ! 

She put her hand in mine. 

She kissed me twice and thrice, 
Twice, twice and thrice, 

And would not let me go. 

There is no life but sleep. 

Sleep that brings more perfect light ; 

Days, your paler sunshine keep ! 

Quenched be your feeble might ! 
35 



36 DREAMS. 

And let me slumber deep 
Till I shall feel the glow 
Of those warm kisses through the night, 

Till she has kissed me twice and thrice, 
Twice, twice and thrice, 
And will not let me go. 



LOVE LETTERS. 



I. 

Thirty days hath September — 

That is all I can remember ; 

For then my own land I see, 

And thou, its queen, wilt welcome me. 

So do not chide me if I say 

This month hath one less day 

Than the rest, and is all I know 

Of time ; sure it was ordered so. 

That I might win one day of fate— - 

Win one for love, lose one for hate. 

O hateful time and cruel space ! 

Long have I known your cheating face ; 

So short, so sweet, when heart to heart, 

So long, so drear, when torn apart. 
37 



38 LOVE LETTERS. 

These poor words I send to you 
Receive a favor not their due. 
Ah ! could they know their happiness 
To see you, ere you their sender bless ! 

II. 

Speed him, gentle wind, 
Speed him to his friends ; 

Let no iceberg find 

What track the helm intends. 

Move into lucky sign 

Full moon, play round the prow. 
And mark the silvern line 

The. oaken keel may plough. 

Speed him, sea-nymphs dear. 
Speed him to this breast ! 

Thy loved one greets thee here, 
In these arms to sink to rest. 



MY GUIDE. 



She leads me to a summer land, 
In silence and with upturned eyes ; 

While I more closely press her hand 
And lightly float through heavenly skies. 
Like clouds in June. 

Filled with her dream of peace I blend 
And follow as her steps incline, 

Nor wish the upward path to end ; 
Better to find her hand in mine, 
Than heaven too soon. 

I dilate to her touch as fast 

As sea-weed at the tide's embrace ; 

All doubt and fear are swiftly past 

When I, undaunted, see her face 

And share its calm. 
39 



40 MY GUIDE. 

She leads me to a summer land, 
Her tranquil spirit's native air ; 

Where evermore my soul may stand 
Before her, and unto hers lie bare, 
As palm in palm. 



ARS POETICA ET HUMANA, 



Dost thou, beloved, see 
That even Poesy- 
Hath rites like thine and mine ? 
Dost thou its harmonies 
Observe, and how there lies 
Along the builded line 

The touch, the frequent ties, 
The Muses love to twine ? 
See, at the very end 
The loving words must blend 
In fondest rhymes^ and kiss, 

Their meaning not to miss, 
41 



42 ARS POETICA ET HUMANA. 

Ere they onward flow 
Some other mood to show. 
So do our hearts rehearse, 

In earnest or in play, 
The self-same pulse as verse ; 

And lips seal what lips say. 



LOVE'S FIRST DOUBT. 



Oh, ask not with those dewy eyes ! 

I cannot answer them to-night ; 
What faint, first shadow of surmise 

Looks from those azure homes of light ! 

I have no life — my hands are cold, 
The fire burns low within my breast ; 

And drop by drop my blood is told, 
Or loiters seeking fatal rest. 

Ah ! let me linger through this hour 

To feel a deeper passion's gust, 

The passion born of doubt's wild power ; 

Ah ! sweeter doubt than vacant trust. 
43 



44 love's first doubt. 



Ask not ! ask what thyself dost know ! 

How deep within the tides do thrill 
To thee ! The deeper seas can show 

No stream, and swiftest stars are still. 



LONGING. 



Too long, too long has bled this heart, 
Too long o'ercast this dubious day ; 

Oh ! could I love, and love in part, 
Tempering this fire with coarser clay. 

Such store of love I long to give ! 

I yearn to give it all — one gift ; 
Nor seems there any life to live 

Unless that life all love uplift. 

Who can give aught to one so bold ? 
Who the measureless measure so ? 
Only the open hand can hold 

All that the full hand can bestow. 

45 



46 LONGING. 

And yet the day will come, I dream, 
When this too long divided life 

Shall be at peace ; nor bitter seem 
The way that led me from the strife. 

As in some fable I have read. 

Two streams far fleeing underground, 

So near and yet so separate led, 
At last by chance each other found ; 

So do I waking, sleeping, flow 

So near the soul, like mine, alone ; 

And oh, to meet and banish woe ! 
Or sleeping die to find my own ! 



SONG. 

I would that my life could recover 

That joyous, merry time, 
When all my soul was a lover, 

And all things went in rhyme. 

When song of the poet could mellow 

More than the oldest wine ; 
When of bards and heroes the fellow, 

Love and their fame were mine. 

But I learned from critics to quibble, 

To see dross in the gold : 
Come back, oh young heart, while they scribble, 

Come thou back in the old. 



47 



A TRIBUTE. 

Dear, if I give you what is due, 
An ancient debt of love to vou, 
No least return do I design, 
I give you what is yours, not mine. 

Mine only when my star was low ; 
Oh, who as I to learn so slow ! 
This laggard love my heart doth bear 
Now let thy warmer bosom wear 

And ripen too ; as those late fruits. 
Their own trees drop not, best it suits 
To pluck, and set in glowing sun 
By day, in warmth when day is done. 



48 



PORTRAIT-PAINTER. 

Velvets-, silks, and lawn, 

In these would you be drawn ? 

Or shall I rather try to trace 

Diviner passions in your face ? 

Yet of the earthly have you part, 

Although it comes not near your heart ; 

So fine the art which you affect, 

It is not seen what you neglect — 

You who all outward customs wear 

Over the secret vest of hair, 

Acting for inward vantage high 

The noble, necessary lie ! 

Let me paint the mysteries 

Of those baffling, withdrawn eyes ; 
49 



50 PORTRAIT-PAINTER. 

Let me catch the secreted scorn 
At seeming from true being torn ; 
Till bidden past your spirit's bar 
I fix in heaven my one more star. 



NEW LOVE. 



Again I feel the glow of newer life 
In the same vale where once before love found 
And warmed and brought his gift to me unsought. 
Her shadowed eyes shone on me here, as now 
Love's shine ; her smile returns on other lips. 
The River breaks between the neighbor hills 
And slides far on until it meets the sky, 
And seems to empty there as in my youth ; 
And as of yore the vale is filled with mist 
Between the night and dawn ; and evening brings 
The same faint violet hues and amber lights. 
From the old fount return old hopes and fears. 
Can heaven itself bestow the same gift twice ? 
I know not ; but it seems the very same. 
Tell me, come love's gifts o'er and o'er to them 
Whose hearts are hungry with celestial wants ? 



51 



RALPH'S LOVE STORY. 



IN MEM. G. B. 



She pressed him to her heart and bade him go ; 

For friends were cruel and would wrong the love 

Of each for each. Then ere he moved to go, 

Their souls were one in one more last embrace, 

And in tears he said : " Let no trace remain 

Of all our love — the letters — fire must burn." 

And she consenting, pressed her fair white hands 

Upon a fairer breast — " Here shall they burn ! " 

He heard the paper whisper to her palm ; 

He understood the sign and turned away 

With joy most like to grief but heart at rest. 

Ralph was the master of the village school, 

From college let to earn his college dues ; 

Handsome as man is handsome in the bloom 

52 



RALPH S LOVE STORY. 53 

Of manly strength and glorious promises. 

His clear blue Saxon eye beamed wealth of love 

And sense, and prophesied of future fame. 

She was a joyous girl, but not yet crowned 

With all the grace of perfect womanhood. 

But love is like the flower to after-fruit, 

All perfect in itself and in its use. 

Nor wanting years nor wisdom to be love. 

So she by impulse of that power was shown 

At once the secrets of the woman-soul. 

When he was gone her heart could not withstand 

The bitter test to live on hopes deferred ; 

Still knew not other law than to submit 

Her fate to those who said " It could not be." 

But in that act of meek obedience 

And death of all sweet hope of love fulfilled, 

Her maiden soul confused with struggling sense 

Of filial reverence long bred in her, 

But now impaired by a more tender wish, 



54 Ralph's love story. 

Wasted the blooming cheek and laughing eye, 

And thronged her mind with hopeless images. 

Wild longing came with fever over her, 

As evermore her sickening body drooped ; 

And when she thought of him her spirit yearned. 

And steadfastly she gazed along the road, 

The very way he used to come at dark, 

And moaned unto herself, ^^Will he not come?" 

Then came a mind to break herself away 

From all her promises and all her friends 

And fly to him, fly through the dreary world. 

Find him, and in his arms breathe out her life. 

But ah, too late ! Hope faltered, flamed, then died. 

When heard her kindred all her frenzied words. 

And that sad tale of love which they had strove 

To blot from their and her remembrance once, 

They fain would send for Ralph now far away, 

A last physician for the fatal wound 

Which they in pride and arrogance had made. 

He came ; and when he saw the fearful wreck 



Ralph's love story. 55 

Of all that once had made life dear to him, 
Nor wholly dark in times when no star shone, 
His heart sank down, and grief too terrible 
For tears made him an old man in a day. 
But still he hoped that love would cure the hurt 
That hapless love and cruel fate had given. 
He took her in his arms and strove and prayed. 
Then all the treasured love of silent years 
Brought back the oldtime look into her eyes, 
A passing color to her faded cheek, 
And words that rent him while they comforted. 
She said : " It is not hard to die to-day, 
Since it hath earned me that for which I lived. 
For which ere now I gladly would have died. 
A little higher lift me, love, — but life — 
Ah, life ! and much there was for me, for you ! 
Round my short years all nobly in your own. 
So be no loss to you or me or God. 
And they shall say, seeing your worth and faith: 
^ Behold how good she was ! one part of him 



56 Ralph's love story. 

His own, one is the reflex of a heart 
Bequeathed by her to whom his own he gave.* 
Long will seem the days, long the slow, lone years ; 
But such a love is ours as hath no end ; 
And whatsoever be, each setting sun 
Will bring you nearer to my waiting soul." 
She ended ; eyes looked up their last farewell, 
And she lay dead within his helpless arms. 
Back to his books and college lore he went 
As one unconscious walks accustomed ways. 
But gone was that great love of hard-learned fame 
Which erst had borne him up the steep ascent, 
Not for himself alone, but, if might be, 
To lay some wreath of honor at her feet. 
How beggarly the thought indeed to him 
Of self-rewards, or aught unshared by her ! 
Rare-hearted man ! no feast didst thou enjoy 
Unless some guest were there to share in all. 
No speech delighted thee like that old saw 
'* The half is more than whole :" or that high word, 



RALPHS LOVE STORY. 57 

Spoke 'neath the plane-tree by Illissus* stream, 
"The goods of friends are common, e'en their 

prayers." 
I knew him then, and as his love and loss 
Had made all dalliance with woman vain, - 
He turned to my free youth and not too wise 
To give the whole or nothing when I gave. 
Beneath my pale and sombre face there lurked 
A woman's heart which was not slow to yield. 
I gave him all he asked of sympathy. 
And he would be too fortunate to live 
Who twice should know such love as he repaid. 
Three years we lived as one, seldom apart, 
A golden age couched in an iron time, 
With ne'er an unshared wish or double thought. 
Not over-studious of books or pelf 
We dwelt in realms where worldly wants were few, 
Rich in those things that without cost are rich. 
But this sweet life so passed and ended so, 
As all most high and beautiful must end ; 



S8 Ralph's love story. 

He yearned for action to make short the years. 
The times were ripening for his sad intent ; 
The brave, the false, and many more like him, 
Whose inner life was lived in hid despair, 
Were arming for the last of Freedom's fights. 
In the front ranks her blood-red fields he saw. 
And honor won ere the great boon he craved ; 
For those who hold their life so little worth 
Forever seem to bear a charmed life. 
In their last fields the enemy he sought, 
'Mong those great battles of the Wilderness, 
Without a name, where men fought day and night. 
And made no pause till all the land was theirs/ (^ 
He fell ; and falling knew the onset won. 
And heard triumphant shouts along the line 
Proclaim the end of strife for those who lived. 
And unto him the death so long desired. 

Now they two whose sad bosoms bore love's cross 

Are happy in a world of happy hearts. 

And want but me to know and share their bliss. 



AT THE PLAY. 

" She never has acted so well as to-night ! " 
That was the plaudit which went to my heart ; 

Of all the vast throng by a lover's own right, 
I divined her new gift, the source of her art. 

That night in the shows of the masterful stage 
The feigning lover believed he was loved ; 

For she wrought him to heights of passionate rage, 
And the world surely thought a liaison proved. 

But I alone knew where her part had been learned. 
Nature the master, the cast always two ! 

I saw but reflex of a fire that had burned 

Or ever the play, and rekindled when through. 



59 



THE DAWN. 



How clear and how near to the youth 

Shines the light in the spring-time ; 

Nearer it seems to him now, 

Easier the way to its place, 

Than when as a wanderer weary 

He stands but a step from its splendor. 

For the mountain looks near to the mountain ; 

And life begins on the summit, 

But descends through the valley 

Ere regains it another as high. 

Joyful he sees it. 

And onward eagerly presses. 

Yet ever behind him, 

Hovering, unseen, airily. 

The god, who, to precipitate man, 

60 



THE PAWN. 6l- 

Measures the way for his soul, 

Seizes his radiant curls 

As they stream through the wind of the night, 

Turns him, doubtful, to right and to left, 

Dooms him to trial and tears, 

But leaves him, far off, in the distance, 

The old, inextinguishable, beautiful light. 



SONNET. 

I. 

Yet one more gift-time and the certain fate 
Which rules within our being's inmost shrine 

Brought silently to me ; but oh, too late ! 
Still none the less I know the blessing mine, 
And all earth's hopes more willingly resign 

Than that which aye must be unsatiate ; 
A star to see, sometimes despairing pine 

To see its inaccessible estate. 

Yet must I live and love with steadfast soul, 
Forever winning what can ne'er be won. 
Till time for paradise hath fitted me ; 

Crowned with the chaste, white flower of self-control. 
Requited there with thy sweet benison 

And all the love withheld on earth by thee. 



62 



SONNET. 



II. 

If I have ever told you all my heart 

Was yours, and perfect was the love it bore, 
Believe it not ! For in the time past o'er 

I, like some world-wide traveller, would start 

And gaze astonished where the mountains part, 
Thinking of mountain peaks beyond no more, 
As dimly climbing from the heaven's blue shore 

On loftier heights the splendor falls athwart. 

So while I dream all perfect is the bliss 

Which years have added to my soul in thine, 
And say, here must be the eternal bound, 

Lo, in my heart some thought of thee doth kiss 
Into clear light that undetermined line 

Which hovers on the heaven of love profound. 



63 



SONNET. 



III. 

That thou art high above me I have found 
Full oft ; when all alone my heavy brain 
Turns from itself to thee my thoughts regain 

A place so far beyond their usual bound 

I know they climb of other stairs the round 
Than those which their aspiring flights restrain 
In this dull house of clay. Come, not in vain 

Thy height shall raise me from this lifeless ground. 

Let me from thine my lampless way rewin ; 
Usurp this empty-falling tenement 

With ruin underset and o'erhung by night ; 

Replenish it with all that once has been, 

When all it had or wished thy presence lent, 
And love trimmed fresh the intellectual light. 



64 



SONNET. 



IV. 
Ah, yes, I knew her well ! So long her heart 

Had beat ,with mine, and hands their white 

mates found, 
So much her being entered mine and bound 
Into one sweet whole each several part. 
That I cannot recite in this small place, 

But need long life and the most ample page 
To sum her life, her beauty, and her grace. 

And the great love my soul with hers did wage. 
Yet if you have an eye that can divine 

The unknown by the known and great by small, 
Then look on me, her image fairly guess ; 
As some pioneer shows from unworked mine 
One rough gem, and by that clew men reach all 
The wondrous store and the first finder bless. 



65 



ARTIST'S SONG TO THE SUN AT 
CLOSE OF DAY. 



In the open country side, 

Where on holidays we ride, 

The free sun in the free sky 

Joyful goes o'er grass and rye, 

And interweaves with shade and light 

The forest and the mountain height. 

Love ! so wide he throws his beams. 
So glad and generous he seems, 

So oft he delighted lingers. 
And with delicate, warm fingers 
Unknits, when breathing morn is nigh. 
The dream-fast curtains of the eye, 

1 scarce can understand, can you ? 

That this is he who hurries through 
66 



artist's song to the sun at close of day. 67. 

Our city cope ; whose rise and se^t 

We never see and half forget ; 

Whose rapid flight across the street 

Mingles with wheels and hasting feet, 

Or glides in mist and dust and smoke, 

With all his golden glories broke, 

(As once in gloomy London town 

We saw his darkened orb go down,) 

Past bricky piles and prison walls. 

But oh, what joy when morning calls ! 

When peeping through the curtained bed 

The soul to life again is led ; 

Or as a tender, timorous lover. 

Through our attic's dormer-window cover, 

Wavers a coyish, bashful beam. 

Or sometimes darts a flashing gleam 

Across the floor and up the wall. 

Where hangs my best work of all, 

Yo.ur portrait, sweet ! Yes, dearest 

'T is you he loves and hovers nearest. 



68 artist's song to the sun at close of day. 
And kisses, O envious sun ! 
Sweet farewell ere his journey's done ; 
As chanced his choice near yester-e'en 
With jewelled hand made you his queen. 
Eager and warm I saw it steal, 
Where now my fonder arm you feel, 
And trembling lower yet, and lower. 
Where two white billows ever beat 
Their soft-cinctured, warm retreat, 
Lo ! at its master's sudden power. 
The bold and amorous ray 
Flew o'er the window-ledge away. 
To-night the sun stands on the hills. 
And all thy heart with longing fills 
To climb again the mountain side, 
Where ebbs the purple tide on tide. 
There when we have all done our task 
All a summer day we '11 bask ; 
And see again the river wind. 
And on its banks the gentian find ; 



artist's song to the sun at close of day. 69 
Or from the alder I will swing 
The scarlet cardinal to bring. 
The sun shall drop the bright clouds' sheen 
To make for thee a crown, my queen ! 
And himself shall gladly borrow, 
Ere he bid the world good-morrow, 
More glorious light in which to rise 
From thy divine, creative eyes. 



TIMID LOVE. 



Why triest thou thy heart to hide 

In subtle windings near the constant thought, 

Borne on the soul's supremest tide, 

Possessing mine, but never to be taught 
By skilful art to sound the word full fraught, 
Thou know'st and I abide ? 

Oh, unlearn those sweet ways that draw 

Yet check love's tide, when all is said and done ! 

What lover, blindly led, e'er saw 
Clearly and sure as the beloved one 
How mystically their first pathways run 
Envassalled by one law. 

Yet not to win too soon or cheap 

BafHe me still with new suspected harms ; 

That I may sum the growing heap 

Of thy all-conquering, costliest charms. 

And like a soldier after war's alarms 

My trophies count and keep. 

70 



STRAWBERRY SEASON. 



" Strawberries ripe, strawberries red "- 

Little maiden, will you wed ? 

I will buy of thee enow 

If to me you make this vow. 

Those the strawberries I seek 
Which do grow upon your cheek ; 
Field and pasture have enow, 

Thine are sweeter, they allow. 

Gems and rubies have I none ; 

One gem I want, only one ; 

That to me shall be enow 

If forever true art thou. 
71 



72 STRAWBERRY SEASON. 

Rank I ask not ; only when 
You do love me most of men 
Shall I feel the king enow 
Crown to place upon thy brow. 

We will rule a kingdom smal] 
But the chief among them all 
With double power and sway enow 
Shall one heart our hands endow. 

" Strawberries ripe, strawberries red "- 
Little maiden, will you wed ? 
I am rich and wise enow, 
Gentle, true, and tender thou. 

Though till this was hid thy face, 
Loved at once its simple grace ; 
Courting days will be enow 
To tell all the why and how — 

Not all ! ever let there be 

Some new cause to show it thee ; 



STRAWBERRY SEASON. 73 

Fifty lives were not enow 

All my dear heart to avow. 

" Strawberries ripe, strawberries red " — 

Yes, fond lover, let us wed ; 

Take, oh ! take my maiden vow, 

For I never loved till now. 



ROMAN LOVERS. 



Not that my love was more 

Than he could claim his store ; 

Not that she showed him sign 

That was outranked by mine ; 

No, neither could win it all, 

Its splendor could forestall, 

Which, like some broad river flowing. 

For either bank no preference showing, 

Bending toward one awhile, 

Blessing other with its smile, 

Ever bearing on its course 

Toward heaven from heavenly source. 

Ah, too small is man's estate ! 

Cares not woman for its fate. 
Pour from your flagon in my cup 

Thou lovely one, and fill it up ; 
74 



ROMAN LOVERS. 75 

And fill again to him, my peer, 
Without envy, without fear. 
The cup it holds but all it can — 
Too scant for thee, too much for man. 



FLOWER OF NIGHT. 



Ye common flowers, the day uncloses, 
Daisy, pansy, bravest roses. 
In naught do ye at all compare 
With mine, more excellent and rare, 
Which silent night discloses. 
For like the flowers of heaven 
That coyly ope at even 
Their silvery petals to night's queen, 
Miri€ through all the dark is seen. 
It guides me in the welcome gloom 
Through all the house to one still room 
There, shining as a star in night. 
Looks out, 'mid raven tresses dight, 
The flower whose beauty breathes 
On me, me alone enwreathes. 



76 



COMPENSiVTION. 



I have missed your love after all, 

That which I sought to have and hold ; 

You gave it soon and soon recall ; 
It was born too late to grow old, 

And all I know or feel is pain. 

Pain endless for my hour of bliss ; 

Oh yet, another's love to gain 

Were not so dear as thine to miss ! 



77 



THE NORTHERN EYE. 



Black eyes to me dark fancies bring, 
I cannot solve their mysteries ; 

From brown I know but suffering, 
The sudden love that sudden flies. 

One eye there is, 1 know not word 
To name precise its changeful hue ; 

But over mine beams always lord — 
In thought *t is gray, in love 't is blue. 



78 



RENUNCIATION. 



My eyes possess you and my heart, 
But never nearer can I come ; 

The world of which you are a part 
Is not nor cannot be my home. 

To take you thence would be but ill, 
To follow you 't is now too late ; 

Strong is the heart and strong the will. 
But stronger adamantine fate. 

I leave you, dearest, where you are ; 

I stay where nature fixed my line : 
Still shall I watch you ; though your star 

Warm other worlds, be light on mine ! 



79 



THREE AGES. 



'T was morn ; and o'er my little window ledge 
Flew many a wild bird in plumage bright ; 

They sang sweet songs, and left the truest pledge 
Of love, of love and truth by. day and night. 

'T was afternoon ; and through my stately door 
In soberer dress come the too tame birds ; 

Calling our former themes so vain and poor. 
Twittering now in philosophic words. 

It is night now ; life, love, and thought are done; 

What is it comes and sets my heart a-glow ? 
Of all the wise and learned tongues not one — 

Only the foolish songs of long ago. 



80 



KEATS'S LOVE-LETTERS. 



Rest, hunted spirit ! Canst thou never sleep ? 
Ah, when the ghouls and vampires of the Press 
Vex thy all tender soul in wantonness 

Canst thou know aught of peace, but still must 
weep ! 

What ! shall thy heart's rich blood poured out so 
deep, 
Be made a merchandise without redress. 
Nor any voice the world's base deed confess 

Which prints and sells a poet's love so cheap ? 

My curse upon this prying, prurient age ! 

And curst the eyes not closed in angry shame 1 
For him whom English air and critic pen 
Twice baffled ere his splendid, youthful gage 

Had measured half the heaven of love and fame. 
This shameless book has murdered once again ! 



8i 



AT THE GRAVE OF CHAMPERNOWNE. 



Here poise, like flowers on flowers, the butterflies ; 

The grasshopper on crooked crutch leaps up, 

The wild bees hum above the clover cup. 
The fox-grape wreathes the fence in green disguise 

Of ruin ; and antique plants set out in tears. 
Pink, guelder-rose, and myrtle's purple bells 

Struggle 'mid grass and their own wasting years 
To show the grave that no inscription tells. 

Here rest the bones of Francis Champernowne ; 

The blazonry of Norman kings he bore ; 
His fathers builded many a tower and town, 

And after Senlac England's lords. Now o'er 
His island cairn the lonesome forests frown. 

And sailless seas beat the untrodden shore. 



82 



THOREAU. 



No more shall summer's heat or winter's cold, 
Nor autumn's plague, nor rule of greedy gold 
Show thee heroic in an alien world ; 
Thy track above men's earth-bound minds was 

hurled, 
As some stars roll their circuit out of sight ; 
Their course we see not, but we see the light. 
For all the customs of our social state 
Which easy homage win, and fix our fate, 
Thy finer spirit had a native dread ; 
Yet questioned it no farther than there led 
Some certain lamp to light the daily life. 
But thought ran on beyond the narrow strife, 
Foretelling wiser days and more benign ; 
In those shall sound no greater name than thine. 



83 



OVID IN BANISHMENT. 



Fly far away, O summer bird, 

Fly far beyond these gloomy wastes ; 

The flitting of thy wings be heard 
Where Tiber to the ocean hastes. 

Take but one word to those I lost 

That day which broke in deeper night ; 

When all I loved and wished the most 
Passed like a dream at morning light. 

Tell them that Rome is Rome no more 
He absent who best knew her worth ; 

In vain their gods they will implore 
Whose poet has been driven forth. 

Here scarce uprears the small, faint sun, 

Ere he slides down his mountain stair ; 
84 



OVID IN BANISHMENT. 85 

The night is drear and never done^ 
And all my dreams increase despair. 

Oh, cease, gay bird, thy torturing joy ! 
To sadder tones thy voice devote ; 

Once I too sang — e'en when a boy 
Thy song I answered, note for note. 

I sing not here, I cannot sing ; 

Gone is my muse, all lost my art ; 
Only there throbs on broken wing 

The burden of a broken heart. 

Fly, happy bird ! I follow soon ; 

But over Rome shall be my flight ; 
Nor must I stay my winged shoon 

Till all the muses are in sight. 

Fly, happy bird, to those I love ! 

Touch every pleasant land and sea ; 
Away ! ere my chained spirit move, 

And loose itself and fly with thee ! 



A SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 

(at NEWCASTLE.) 



Break not his sweet repose 
Thou whom chance brings to this sequestered 
ground, 

The sacred yard his ashes close, 
But go thy way in silence ; here no sound 
Is ever heard but from the murmuring pines. 

Answering the sea's near murmur ; 

Nor ever here comes rumor 
Of anxious world or war's foregathering signs. 

The bleaching flag, the'faded wreath, 

Mark the dead soldier's dust beneath. 

And show the death he chose ; 
Forgotten save by her who weeps alone. 
And wrote his fameless name on this low stone : 

Break not his sweet repose. 



86 



THE SWALLOWS. 



Once in the early summer days, 

When promise on the young earth rests ; 

When in her cote the white dove stays, 

And married birds begin their nests. 

Two happy swallows on their bridal tour 

Came twittering round and round my peaceful door. 

Of high descent they seemed to be, ' 

Too proud on barn or shed to light ; 

And as their wings swept haughtily 

They blazon showed of black and white ; 

Anacreon's swallow was their famous sire ; 

His lineage loves the poet's house and lyre. 

87 



88 THE SWALLOWS. 

" Princes," I said, " with me abide ; 

Our birds are all republicans ; 
In yonder hive 's a royal bride, 

But she has caught our tastes, and plans 
Her subjects into citizens to change, 
And give to each his proper rights and range.' 

Outspread their wings and downward flew, 
Down where the yellow cowslip buds ; 

Where wise musquash in autumn threw 
His hovel, high from river floods ; 

But finer skill to birds than beasts belongs, 

Amphion's art is theirs, to build with songs. 

They brought small drops of muddy ooze. 

And on the cornice o'er my door. 
As safe a place as bird could choose, 

They laid the measure of a floor ; 
And rising walls required no art or thought, 
For helpful nature with them planned and wrought. 



THE SWALLOWS. 89 

Soon in the nest three fledgelings lay^ 

That soon could track through all the sky 

Their little victims' zigzag way 

Nor 'scaped a moth or summer fly ; 

For their sharp eyes the smallest mote can see 

Far better than a man or spreading tree. 

At last when frosty flies were dead, 

And chilly grew the autum wind, 
We saw them circling overhead, 

Then fly ; and soon the sun declined 
To that low arc adown the southern skies 
Whereon he takes his winter exercise. 

Fly back to Italy or Greece 

And learn anew thy cheering song ; 
Such as thy poet sang in peace, 

Unvexed by winters cold and long ; 
And me, when northwest winds rave o'er my farm, 
The same dear singer's vernal song shall warm. 



A FAREWELL. 

[may, 1864.] 

Clasp hand in hand ! The wind is fair 
And blowing soft across the fields 
Of clover balm, it gladly yields 

Its kisses sweet, new gathered there. 

A kiss the lowly violet sends, 
Asking a thought of her afar ; 
More bold the bright hepatica, 

Claiming the right of daily friends. 

The blushing arbute sendeth one ; 

One the frail wind-flower of the wood, 

Still tinged with loved Adonis' blood ; 

And columbine, turned to the sun, 

90 



A FAREWELL. pr 

Bids all her lusty lovers bear 

Her honey drops where they are due ; 
These nature gives ; and I shall sue 

To seal each one more sweetly there. 



And you will see the southern stars, 
And arm and arm 'neath dreamy sails 
Watch down the west their rosy trails, 

Slow piloted by purple Mars. 

Oh, send one thought, one constant hope. 
Thy native land, torn, tearful land. 
May see no more war's bloody hand 

Flaming o'er all the lurid cope ! 

Blow, balmy breeze, across the sea ! 

Each setting sun tip every mast 
With gold ; and moons, when day is passed. 
Shall silver all the sails for thee ! 



TO S. A. 



If you do but veil your face, 

Or add some newer, novel grace, 

I shall only stand and gaze. 

As oft, at yonder starry blaze, 

Whose place, although I cannot climb, 

I should miss at evening time. 

Or if in your future life, 

Time more beauty shall make rife. 

By his slow but constant hand 

You at last all change command. 

And you reach or soon or late 

The appointed sphere of fate. 

Perchance my unequal pace 

May your flying footsteps trace. 

Till I touch among the stars 

92 



TO S. A. 93" 

Your palace's golden bars. * 

But I fear to lose you quite 

If we part in this dim light ; 

If with that resolve — *^ no more 

The same as in days before " — 

The scarce half-read page you turn 

Ere its oracles I learn. 

For I ever stand apart, 

And I have no lover's art, 

Save what sometimes speechless lies 

Fathomed deep in asking eyes. 

To reach your nature's secret state, 

Or you of mine make intimate. 

I watch your calm face at night. 

Gleams the room in mystic light. 

And the form you lightly wear 

Fades away in spirit air. 

Let me know you, what you are ; 

Then as you leave me fast or far, 



94 TO S. A. 

Under whatso'er disguise, 

I shall guess your spirit wise, 

That haunts me oft in slight affairs 
As 't were an angel unawares. 



TO THEODORA. 



Too negligent of this world's praise or blame 

She seems, far looking to another prize 
That might she reach were worth the loss of fame 
And cheap amenities. 

She serves within her heart a royal guest, 

Long from his rightful throne an exiled lord ; 
But soon to reign among the kingliest. 
Girt with Ithuriel's sword. 

Her presence is truth speaking ; well she knows 

How long the path of wisdom and how still ; 

With what close armor she must meet the foes 

Whose tongues are flames of ill. 

95 



g6 TO THEODORA. 

She passes through the web of tangled talk 

As pure St. Margaret through the horrid wood ; 
Falsehood must slink and hide where she doth 
walk, 
And Slander wear his hood. 

Seldom she leaves the kingdom of her mind, 

Where far withdrawn she learneth without art 
All that the Spirit gives to its own kind ; 
Her soul doth dwell apart. 

Yet in that distance die all fear and doubt ; 
Clearer her silence is than others' speech ; 
Yet sometimes you shall hear, above the rout, 
Her sweet voice rise, and reach 

A thought full cadenced in a perfect word ; 

As over all a silver bugle rings, 
Strikes full the wished-for air, and makes unheard 
The drums, unheard the strings. 



WEEDS. 



Was it the devil sowed the weeds, 

As once was writ in ancient creeds ? 

Wilding sisters of the flowers, 

Unnursed except by sun and showers, 

And saved from year to year sans care, 

We know not how and know not where, 

Often they make the heart so glad 

We cannot think the Fiend all bad ; 

As saith St. Augustine — 

I forget the page and line : — 

Once he was fine and fair. 

And of all intellect the heir. 

Doubtless of these a little dower 

He saved from Eden's ruined bower. 

And wieldeth with imperfect power. 
97 



98 WEEDS. 

The weed is a dethroned flower ; 

It grows, it leaves, it blooms unsought 

By man, and dies without his thought, 

And often minds me it must have 

Another life itself to save. 

A wanderer from Paradise, 

Where once it grew to glad all eyes, 

And happy in its own sweet ease 

It now norheaven nor man can please. 

Two things alone escaped the curse : 

The flowers, and high, immortal verse ; 

But men and weeds, together driven 

Beyond the portal of that heaven, 

Together strive to right their wrong, 

One by man's love, and man by song. 

Beside the garden wall 
They hide until the Fall 
Scatters their million seeds ; — 
How safe a wild thing breeds ! 



WEEDS. 99 

While o'er all earthly fields men flock 
To find and nurse some choicest stock, 
Rearing through years its nesh, rare shaft, 
By finest skill and patient craft, 
Storm, stealthy slug, or drouth or frost 
Undo their work and all is lost. 
Weeds fail not, parcel of that might 
Beyond our power to wrong or right. 
The weeds, the stars, the winds, and sea 
Are self-preserved and wildly free ; 
All that is slave to mortal wills 
Shares in the curse of mortal ills. 

Nature hath set by rock and road 
The wild weeds' most secure abode ; 
In paths where we so often come. 
We see, nor envy them their room. 
That we whose hearts with nature beat 
May pleasantly their presence greet. 
So, Esther dear, with me and you 



lOO WEEDS. 

The meanest things shall have their due ; 
The tares and thistles all be sweet, 
Nor to the Lord perchance unmeet ; 
Run, child, and on His altar lay 
This bunch of weeds we pulled to-day. 



DANDELIONS. 



Now dandelions in the short, new grass, 
Through all their rapid stages daily pass ; 
No bee yet visits them ; each has its place, 
Still near enough to see the other's face ; 
Unkenned the bud, so like the grass and ground 
In our old country yards where thickest found. 
Some morn it opes a little golden sun, 
And sets in its own west when day is done. 
In few days more 't is old and silvery gray. 
And though so close to earth it made its stay, 
Lo ! now it findeth wings and lightly flies, 
A spirit form, till on the sight it dies. 



lOI 



ROSE-GERARDIA. 



On my small farm where rocks and weeds contend 

Which shall possess the most its barrenness, 

In earliest spring, the earliest flower, 

Almost untimely, is the Saxifrage, 

The season's dear though humble harbinger. 

Most dear to country folks because the first ; 

Rearing on fragile stem its clustered crown, 

Between the seams of rocks, by east winds blown, 

And with a feeble root and few, low leaves, 

As if it needed neither earth nor sun. 

But grew by that exhilarating sense 

Of winter past and far-off breath of spring 

That likewise man by his own tokens knows. 

102 



ROSE-GERARDIA. lOJ 

But when all summer's lush and favored flowers, 

Fed on the highest suns and richest dews, 

Rooted in mellow soil and sheltered nooks, 

Are blighted with the year's autumnal change. 

Then once again, in thin, unfertile lands. 

Along the beach-side, and the meadow marge, 

The Rose-Gerardia swings its little bell, 

And will not let the season go too soon. 

But holds it with a blessing and a tear. 

Its very leaves do deprecate the frost, 

Already brown so not to tempt his touch. 

And as the thought of spring, and not spring's self. 

Drew from its crevices along the ledge 

The sweet, presaging herald, Saxifrage, 

So now the latest flower, on winter's verge, 

Grows by the memory of summer days. 

Dreams of the rose and blushes at its dream. 



SPENDTHRIFT. 



How friendly gleam the distant spheres, 
How dark my steps with sorrow ! 

My eyes from you, though filled with tears. 
Their only vision borrow. 

Where'er I turn, above, below. 
Still shuns my heart the morrow ; 

Fair lights of old, I miss your glow 
And yearn some ray to borrow. 

Long nights ago was spent my urn, 

But yet I struggle thorough ; 
From you whose lamps still brightly burn, 

A little oil I 'd borrow. 



104 



WANDERING. 



The too wide earth hath tempted me 

Oft over land and sea ; 

Never where men are thickest strewn 

Find I world that is my own. 

Sweetest of bread, and bright, warm fire, 

All that pilgrim can desire ; 

Strong roofs that shut out want and sin, 

All love and peace within, — 

These long I sought, and oft shared I 

In their hospitality. 

I taste their wine and blessing give — 

In joy long may ye live ! 

Then wander forth in sadder mind 

My promised host to find ; 

Him, weary in the self-same quest, 

I found at home, my own, old guest. 



105 



MISS TIPTY-TOES. 



She darts from room to room, 
Like a shuttle through the loom ; 
In and out, away she goes. 
Who can catch Miss Tipty-Toes ! 

Here she comes, there she flies, 
Now she laughs and now she cries ; 
Full of joys and little woes 
Is my sweet Miss Tipty-Toes. 

Gibble-gabble, how she talks ! 
She 's never still, never walks ; 
And o'er all the house it snows 

With gay bits of Tipty-Toes. 

1 06 



MISS TIPTY-TOES. la? 

Now your whisker she wilLtug, 
Then around your neck must hug ; 
She loves you ? no, don't suppose — 
Passing mood of Tipty-Toes. 

She's a thousand things more dear, 

Thirteen dolls with all their gear ; 

Belike counts you one of those 
At most, does queen Tipty-Toes. 

Yet most tender just at eve 
When all playthings she must leave ; 
Then for little respite shows 
Artful heart of Tipty-Toes. 

Still by day and still by night 
I grow fonder of the sprite ; 
And her heart whoever knows 
He must love dear Tipty-Toes. 



Io8 MISS TIPTY-TOES. 

And I oft look down the years 
Thinking of the hopes and fears 
When the rosebud is a rose 
And no more small Tipty-Toes. 



WOMAN'S FAME. 



Go, carve her name on stone or brass, 
Where staring as they frequent pass 

The people read her heraldry ; 
But I a humbler place will claim, 
Enough for memory or fame, 
Where love hath touched my unheard name. 

And cut the letters deep — not high. 

The oak, where stopped by silent thought. 

All loving thoughts of me ! he wrought 

My name beside his own. 

Is guerdon that I would not change 

With her whose public praises range 

Through half the world, and yet are strange 

Where love like mine is known. 
109 



no WOMAN S FAME. 

Within one heart I would be queen, 
For one be slave in love's demesne, 

For one the maiden belt ; 
The bloom should stay upon the peach, 
No rout nor noisy clamor reach 
The throne that ruleth not by speech, 

A power not seen, but felt. 



BEFIN 



O Befin! be but true and bold, 

And follow where the fairies go ; 
Where ladies' hair is all of gold, 

And skin is pure as winter snow. 

Their dress of gossamer is made; 

Their teeth as new-strained milk are white ; 
Their merry eyes black lashes shade. 

Their cheeks are rose leaves soft and bright. 

No grief or care is in that land, 

But bliss the day and dark doth fill ; 

All day they yield the queen's command, 

All night each fairy hath her will. 

Ill 



112 BEFIN. 

There rank is not of wealth or birth, 
But brighter eyes make higher place ; 

And beauty is the queen of earth, 

And crowns herself by her own grace. 

There crimson flowers forever vail 

The meadows filled with songs of bliss ; 

Though beautiful your Inisfail 
It cannot be compared with this. 

Clear streams through all the meadows run. 
And o'er them yew and rowan bend ; 

And o'er them pass the moon and sun, 
And gold and silver to them lend. 

There no one ever time decays. 
But all are young in equal years ; 

They pass as flowers in summer ways. 
Pass, and new bloom in place appears. 



BEFIN.. 113 

There beauty's use is void of shan>e, 
And all from all sweet favors win ; 

And not to take they count a blame, 
And not to love, the only sin. 

There lovers see but are not seen, 

A purple cloud their breath draws round ; 

And music comes the cloud between. 
But those without can hear no sound. 

Then, lady, will you come with me 

To fairy land and fairy lives ; 
Will you its joyous meadows see, 

And be the queen of fairy wives ! 



SONG 



How can I reach you, love, 
In that close crowd ? 

How raise my voice above 
Its voices loud ? 

How have I struggled long 

For you in chase ! 
What barriers broken strong 

You to embrace ! 

Still must I be as far 

From that wished fate 

As yonder yearning star 

From yearning mate ? 
114 



SONG. 115 

And as I lean and yearn, 

The heartless press 
Whirls me beyond return, 

Beyond redress ! 



EDISTE. 



Where grew the sweetness of thy voice, 

Child of the sun and sunny clime ? 
Not in our North couldst thou rejoice, 

Nor carol in our cold and rime ; 
But bred in airs ambrosial 

Where luscious fruits drink in the sun. 
And gladness breatheth over all. 

With these did nature make thee one. 
Child of my heart, when thou art near 

Summer is come and care goes by ; 
Though all our hills in snow uprear, 

I breathe the sky of Italy. 



ii6 



THE ADVENTURER. 



Fear not for me ! This wormed and rotten hulk, 

Worn out by tooth of time and long neglect, 

Has held my hopes when I adventured seas 

More rough than great Ulysses thirsting ploughed. 

Drawn on by charm of more evasive good. 

Oh, had I seen what I desired to see ! 

Oh, had I found what I desired to find ! 

When fate is strong, in vain the will is strong ; 

This lesson morn and night I slowly learned. 

So long beneath eternal stars we tossed, 

I dreamed celestial seas would bear us up, 

Or to our fearful and astonished souls 

Heaven's clear, uncurtained, sapphire windows 

gleam 

117 



Il8 THE ADVENTURER. 

That sunless, moonless light which has no name, 
Save what the neither night nor day may mean. 
The sea was overcome with ancient pain 
As when in tears it fell from Saturn's eyes. 
With souls as restless as its waves we sailed, 
Till from that height sublime we fell to where 
The far-spread level floor and southern breath 
Lulled us to calmer thoughts, and listless sails 
Fretted their mildewed edges into fringe. 
Rivers which break their way through rocky 

shores, 
Or creep by marsh and meadow seaward slow; 
Capes coiling their long arms round sheltered bays, 
With green turf shored and leafy woods, we passed. 
And many pleasant harbors might have made ; 
But what were any harbor unto us 
Though tropic calm and tropic women lured ? 
We were not made for dalliance or for toil. 
But rest serene, in compassed, happy minds. 



THE ADVENTURER. TI9 

For, ever to prepared and peaceful spuls 

The wise gods come as to their own abodes ; 

And ever we desired the miracle. 

What secret power the ruined vessel owned, 

What held her gaping sides we heeded not ; 

Oft her high deck the mighty ocean swept, 

Oft drove, through her wide chinks, the hungry 

flood, 
As free as through the drifting skeletons 
That swathed in sea-weed line the caverned deeps. 
And still we sailed or be it calm or storm ; 
Which way winds blew the sails were set that way ; 
For mindful that we might not seem to want 
In meek submission to the powers who rule 
The waves and airs inimitably blown, 
We left the gods the pilots of our bark 
To steer to fairer realms than we could find. 
Thus rounded we the world, saw well each sky 
And gulfs which fright the youthful mariner. 



I20 THE ADVENTURER. 

To him in middle seas the memory 

Of some dear spot of earth rose doubly sweet, 

And filled with longing to embrace again, 

Or dread lest earth should miss his last embrace. 

And when sometimes we felt the fragrant breeze 

Blown far across the scented western fields ; 

Or distant uplands, loomed with forests dark. 

Like a black thunder-cloud above the vale, 

Low, mystic music drew us shoreward then, 

And this the song we heard or seemed to hear : — 

The shore is sweet, and sweet 
The streamlet winding through the lea ; 

The dews that bathe the mountain's feet 
Are sweet, but sweeter far the sea. 

Dear are the summer moons ; 
Dearer the night than the long day ; 

Brief the night's rapture, and eftsoons 
The sun flares up the eastern bay. 



THE ADVENTURER. 121- 

Welcome the sunset breeze ; , 
Soon fall the dews, soon Hesper gleams, 

Soon broods the night in shadowy trees, 
Where young birds dream their happy dreams. 

Oh, sweet the shore, and sweet 
The home of love which waits thee there ! 

But thou a dearer home shalt meet, 
And warmer love and forms more fair. 

My face not yet hath lost the charmed look 
Which erst the sirens limned with happy hopes ; 
And oft I hear their music in the air 
When idly roaming inland damp east winds 
Bring up the sky the shadow of the sea. 
Then sudden longing breathes unrest again, 
And I must set my sail and flee away. 
The salt, unconquered wastes are haply mine. 
More dear to me than fields whose bounds I know. 
Where life and thought lie anchored motionless. 



122 THE ADVENTURER. 

Yet is there, I believe, beyond this sea, 

Another world, lighted by larger stars, 

Where all I seem to be, but never am, 

I shall become ; my own proud home behold, 

And enter there, where I am known and know. 

I long this rich, ambitious port to leave. 

Whose busy citizens run to and fro. 

Make plans, and think they rule the feeble gods. 

And soon I shall ; when rise the Pleiades 

Once more to sail beyond this ancient isle, 

A far, white speck, sinking from haunts of men. 

The promontory's point and beacon lamp. 



CHAUNCY CREEK. 



My boat-keel parts unheralded the creek, 

Where high-bred women and their knightly peers 

Were rowed two hundred years ago ; this stream 

And those dark woods alone retain their fame ; 

Chauncy de Chauncy, kin of Charlemagne, 

And Champernowne of Modbury's armored hall, 

Who fought at Senlac, Harold's crown to wrest, 

Sparhawk and Cutt, and Gerrish of the Isle, 

Pepperell of lengthy purse, in sword and hose, 

Who led the yeomanry at Louisburg, 

And who, for valor knighted, wrought his shield 

With cones his merchant masts of pine once bore ; 

Patrons of learning they, and noble arms ; 

They named these shores and streams with their 

own names, 

123 



124 CHAUNCY CREEK. 

But else their grandeur and their state have passed. 

Here now the squalid fisher lands his boat, 

Calls wife and children from yon little cot, 

Perched on the rocks and imaged in the stream, 

His scanty fare upon the flakes to spread. 

Too small to sell, too little for his hoard. 

Where once men canvassed oft of church and state, 

And ladies, stiff in low, laced bodices, 

Gossiped of men and merry wedding days. 

Seated in porch or window's embrasure, 

Pricking their samplers with some much-loved 

name. 
Which gallants, o'er their shoulders looking down. 
Saw well pleased ; now rough speech is only heard, 
Of fares of fish, and boats and winds and tides ; 
And housewives lean and sluttish, hair unkempt. 
And dress undone for tugging baby lips. 
Show limp and hungry breasts of leathery hue 
Which starve each year the yearly boy or girl. 



CHAUN^Y CREEK. I 25 

What avails the past to them ? What avail 
The placid stream, the lordly towering pines ? 
Ah, what de Chauncy, Sparhawk, Champernowne ! 
All passes ! And they, with great they know not, 
Commingled lie, and share with them one fate — 
To be forgot. 

So musing on my oar 
I drifted past the ancient bridge and on 
To that still place, near where, as from a hill, 
The creek pours out its tide-filled cup two ways : 
One the Atlantic hungrily devours. 
The other swells thy flood, Piscataqua. 

Then homeward turned beside the forest pines, 

I heard that voice of ocean feminine, 

The softer seas which murmur in their tops ; 

And soon the old familiar beat far off. 

And soon the dark blue, clear and always pure. 

Bathing the world, each day itself twice bathed. 

Led by the tiring maiden moon at eve 



126 CHAUNCY CREEK. 

And morn to crystal chambers of the deep. 

Plunged in the tides I too would leave behind 

The memory of mouldering greatness, 

The forms of loud-tongued living wives and men. 

O sharp asperities of mortal paths 

That lead but hinder us from all we love ! 

Then who but sometimes backward walks, where 

hope 
Obscured the thorny goal with too fierce light ; 
Or soothes himself with joys, though lost, still his ; 
Or countervails his life in other lives ? 
And Mary Chauncy sleeping by the sea, 
Its silent neighbor for a hundred years, 
Daughter of long-descended Cambrian sires, 
In sweet youth dead, dead in her first, last tears. 
Still holds her lifeless babe on lifeless arm 
And sits the pensive pilot of my boat. 
When autumn days draw me in idle mood 
To Chauncy Creek ; and hers and Champernowne*s 
Are forms that lingering, linger my return. 



THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER. 

(new castle, n. h., a. d. 1814.) 



If you should turn your feet from yonder town 

Intent to bathe your eyes with healing sight 

Of open sea, and islands rising through, 

Mere heaps of shattered ledge that have outstood 

Eternal storm, though gray, defiant still, 

The river shows the path that you must go ; 

Its stream engrails the shores of twenty isles. 

And pleasant is the way as is its end ; 

For you will idle on the bridges three. 

And loiter through the ancient village street. 

That crowns the harbor mouth ; then you will 

come 

To beaches hard, and smoothed by each new tide 

Rolling between the low, port-cullised rocks, 

Rocks bare a-top, but kirtled at the feet 

127 



128 THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER. 

With sea-weed draperies that float or fall, 
As swells or sinks the lonely, restless wave. 
There, just above the shore, is Walbach Tower, 
Its crumbling parapet with grass and weeds 
O'ergrown, and peaceful in its slow decay. 
Old people always tell strange tales to us, 
A later race — always old tales are strange. 
And seems the story of this ancient Tower 
A marvel, though believing while I hear. 
Because who tell it do believe it true. 
Three English ships lay under Appledore, 
And men in groups stood on the rocks, intent 
If they the fort could mean to cannonade. 
Or land along the coast and inland march 
To sack and burn the wealthy Portsmouth Town. 
The morning dawned and twice again it dawned, 
And still the hostile ships at anchor swung ; 
But now a rumor ran they meant to land ; 
At once brave Walbach was resolved to build 



THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER. 1 2 9 

A tower which all the beaches should command, 

And mount thereon his sole tremendous gun. 

He summoned all the villagers at dusk 

Of one September Sunday when the days 

Are shortening, and the nights are bright and cool. 

Men came and boys, and with them women came. 

Whose dauntless mothers helped our fathers win. 

In that rebellious time against the king. 

The freedom which, forgetful of its cost. 

We toss to any hand raised o'er the crowd, 

And pushing hardest, or with loudest voice. 

They wrought as never men and women wrought. 

And in one night the Tower completed rose. 

But lo, the miracle ! for unseen hands 

Alternate with the mason's dextrous craft. 

As voice repeats and catches up the voice 

In song, laid on the workmen's every course 

Another course, and they no presence saw. 

But thought they heard the chiming trowels ring. 



130 THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER. 

The morning glimmer showed that labor done 

For which two nights were counted scarce enough ; 

Then well their awed but joyful hearts confessed 

Some present deity their Champion friend, 

To whom they knelt upon the dewy grass, 

As in the east, the sun returning, built 

A tower of gold along the ocean floor, 

And offered up subdued and grateful praise. 

The hateful ships approached the river mouth, 

Stood off and on and tacked about ; at last, 

Firing a gun to stern, they sailed away. 

Still stands the Tower, long may it stand disused ! 

Without a blow, one foe it put to flight. 

And when another comes it will arise 

And in its ruins keep its legend good. 

For while I told this tale one summer night, 

Leaning a weary head on fondest breast. 

We heard the sea-maids on the outer rocks 

Splash in the falling tide, and dimly saw 



THE LEGEND OF WALBACH TOWER. I3I 

What seemed their tresses, undulating there ; 
And felt, around, below, above, the power, 
Not human, but the help of human hands. 
When set to labor in some noble cause. 



PARSON MOODY'S PRAYER. 

(new castle, n. h., 1683.) 



How thick the devils are around us ! 

Good Lord, deliver us and save ! 
Our sins, our guilt, and shame have found us 

Good Lord, must Satan dig our grave ? 

Thou knowest. Lord, our pinfold ever 
Owned none but saints in the first flock ; 

But now the wicked come and sever 
The sweetest pasture and best stock. 

So, Lord, Thou hast sent us trials sore, 
Yea, stone-throwing imps ! And we fear 

Of Thy wrath to see some vials more. 
And that Thy grace be never near. 

^ See note at end of book. 

132 



THE "stone-throwing DEVIL." 133 

Let Goodman Walton sin no farther, 

In whose house, preachers. Thy chosen ones, 

Oft warm their hearts with Old Jamaica — 
' T was there the Devil threw the stones ! 

Plunge Walt Barefoot in his own ditches ! 

Send pious captains to our Fort ; 
Thou know'st how he saved those three witches, 

And haled Thy servant to his court. 

Let not our Governor work more evils, 
Vaporing that our Church has come 

Of sand, so rocks are sent by devils — 
In mercy. Lord, send Cranfield home ! 

Pull down all scoffers in high places, 

And let Jehovah rule this Town ; 
Be no long hair nor women's graces, 

But let them dress in homespun gown. 



134 THE "stone-throwing devil/' 

And as Thou never canst take pleasure 

In costly temple's idol ware, 
Let all our Churches plainness measure, 
And nothing help, or hinder prayer. 

Keep in the Church's fold the chosen — 
But sinners must pay tithes and dues ; 

And that our faith be never frozen, 
Seat all the righteous in front pews. 

So goats from sheep be always sundered, 
And chaff from wheat be always blown ; 

And when Thy fold is called and numbered. 
Give Thou the Devil all his own. 

But do with us as Thine own choice is ; 

Yet here we 'd see Thy vengeance fall 
On some we know ! — in their offices 

The brethren and their friends install. 



THE "stone-throwing DEVIL." 135 

Build Thou here the New Jerusalem ! 

Thy will be done on friend and foe ! 
But Thy saints, with comfort pay them ; 

Let come Thy reign — and Cranfield's gr. 



BOS'N HILL. 

(a new castle, n. h., legend.) 



The wind blows wild on Bos'n Hill, 
Far off is heard the ocean's rote ; 

Low overhead the gulls scream shrill, 
And homeward scuds each little boat. 

Then the dead Bos'n wakes in glee 
To hear the storm-king's song ; 

And from the top of mast-pine tree 
He blows his whistle loud and long. ' 

The village sailors hear the call, 

Lips pal ef and eyes grow dim ; 

Well know they, though he pipes them all. 

He means but one shall answer him. 
136 



BOS N HILL. 137" 

He pipes the dead up from their graves, 

Whose bones the tansy hides ; 
He pipes the dead beneath the waves, 

They hear and cleave the rising tides. 

But sailors know when next they sail 

Beyond the Hilltop's view, 
There 's one amongst them shall not fail 

To join the Bos'n's Crew. 



RUTH GOUCH. 



Forth walked Ruth Gouch, fallen and disgraced ; 

And all but women pitied her, 
As to the whipping-post shamefaced 

She came and leaned a,nd did not stir. 

And all day long the adulteress, 

There in the open, public place. 
Stood in her guilt-stained, ghostly dress, 

With pinioned hands and pallid face. 

For punishment though new, yet meet, 

The elders of the church decreed 

To wear her own hand-woven sheet 

As stigma of the shameless deed. 

138 



RUTH GOUCH. 139 

The men passed by with silent mien, 
The women paused aloof and stared, 

And mocked their little village queen 
Whose beauty once their own impaired. 

"Ah, now has come,*' they said, " at last, 
The end we long foreknew, foretold " ! 

And, at a woman, women cast 

The stone that was not cast of old. 

Pity nor scorn did lier affect ; 

She stood as any spectre there ; 
Before her name, her heart was wrecked — 

What was there now she could not bear ! 



THE CAPTAIN'S OATH. 

'T was in New Hampshire's one good port 

The Isabella lay ; 
Hark ! Sailors' oaths are fierce and short — 

No breezes stirred that day. 

Swear and whistle, whistle and swear ! 

Never a breath on the cheek, 
Never a breath for wrath or prayer ; 

There they lay for a week, 

With hold close-stowed and clear, clean deck, 

And crew just twenty-four — 

Save one, who dreamed a dream of wreck 

And hid himself on shore. 
140 



THE CAPTAIN S OATH. I4I 

At last the land-breeze, soft and calm ; 

Slowly they left the strand ; 
But ere a mile again the balm 

Fell over sea and land. 

The good bark idly rocked and swung ; 

The men they chafed and swore ; 
And still the Captain's cursing tongue 

Was heard all men's before. 

He called the awful hurricane, 

" Come, make her old masts reel ! " 

And wished, his fav'rite phrase profane, 
'' His head below the keel." 

But there they lay, and up and down. 

And stem and stern they go ; 
And ever there the sleepy town, 

The glassy sea below. 



142 THE captain's OATH. 

And lazy flapped the drooping sails ; 

All things did sleep and dream, 
As when a perfect hush prevails 

Before the lightning gleam. 

By dusk, the calm was deeper made ; 

The sky its stars unrolled, 
And far the beacon lamp out-rayed 

A waving stream of gold. 

By midnight time you well might guess 

The world was at its close, 
Such slumber deep as dead men bless 

Wrapped all in its repose. 

But when the moon called back the tide 
From underneath the world. 

Strange sounds were heard on every side 
And white the waters curled. 



THE captain's OATH. 143 . 

Then on each other did they call^ 

As burst the roaring gale ; 
Then roused aloft the ship's crew all 

To furl the splitting sail — 

Too late ! When morning dawned again 

And fell the deadly breeze, 
The sails were seen by startled men 

Hanging 'mid forest-trees. 

Amazed, they hurry to the beach, 

And there the wreck they found, 
Driven where breakers seldom reach, 

And all her brave crew drowned. 

There, rueful sight ! all stark and dead ! 

Such blows the waves did deal. 
The cursing Captain's self-doomed head 

Was crushed beneath the keel. 



IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. 



145 



IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. 



I. 

After the storm the waves beat high, 

Though wind and sky be hushed in peace 

So in my heart, though tears be dry. 

Grief swells and breaks and will not cease. 

She rests beyond my utmost reach, 
She whom my love did once content ; 

I walk, companionless, the beach. 
And see the distant way she went. 

Across gray seas it beckons me — 

I see, I fly ! ah, cannot stir ! 

Earth holds the earthly in its fee, 

But all my soul has fled to her. 

147 



148 IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. 

II. 

Pass on, O stranger, I implore of thee ! 

Nor gather flowers on mounds thou hast not sown. 

Here in security of sweet content 

The best were plucked by idlers like thyself, 

Who thought to take away some fragrant charm. 

The hand that planted gained a secret boon, — 

That only where they grow their perfume springs ; 

And she who sleeps below beqeaths to them 

Her own dear sweetness, beauty, grace supreme ; 

Nor can they bloom beyond her peaceful grave. 

But grieve no more, O stranger ! bend thy head 
And fill thy sense with all she was to me ; 
Press tenderly the leaves within thy palm. 
And thou, perchance, mayst take away with thee 
A spell to draw, like her, all hearts to thine. 



IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. I49 



III. 

Friend, what avail the words you say ! 

Of vain regrets I drank my fill ; 
Keen was the anguish of that day, 

And dark the shadows round it still. 

And faster yet my tears would flow 
Could I her loss forget to feel ; 

Dearer to me is all its woe 

Than that which others call their weal. 

Though only half her love was mine — 
Sweet Pity claimed the nobler part — 

Her tender smile, my daily wine, 

Overflowed, and still overflows my heart. 



150 IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. 

IV. 

Strange sails go in and out the ancient port ; 

They gladden all the unblest, lonely shore ; 
They touch the broken walls of silent fort, 

And oft their shadows cross my cottage door. 

With their white wings, I ask them where they sail 
That nevermore they bring to me my own ; 

And why, in every land, to meet her, fail, 
And only round the world to find her flown. 

And heard you nowhere once her sweet voice fall, 
Or would she hearken not your alien tongue ? 

Mine I will lend you then, and you shall call — 
Listen ! how soon, how glad her answer rung ! 

For speech her soul desires, and from me long — 
" A little rest," she said, — she would not stay ; 

No ! never, never could she do such wrong ! 
Sail, comrades, sail ! and I will guide the way. 



IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. 151 

V. 

The sea forever beats th' unshaken rock, 

The sea-bird's pinions the undinted air. 

O heart ! canst thou not be the rock in me ? 

Canst thou not cleave like air and show no mark ? 

VI. 

Her spirit brought the end of strife, 

And pride did bow ; 
The earth was lovelier for her life, 

As heaven is now. 

VII, 
This is the room in which she slept ; 

Those are her pictures, these her books ; 
Nothing of hers but what hath kept 

Her portrait ; and her lover looks 
Expectant of her presence near. 

Knows he her life hath other setting ? 
Dreams he that all, as once, is here ? 

Ah, leave him to his sweet forgetting ! 



IS2 IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. 



VIII. 

Like as remembered music long asleep 

Within the heavy, o 'er-encumbered brain, 

Wakes at the sound of some remote, low strain ; 
Or as the summer tides from ocean creep 

Along the sandy fiats and fill amain 
All the least wrinkles and each minute bowl, 

Which in their ebbing had imprinted lain. 
And soon with mightier longing, sudden roll 

Their wonted, moon-drawn ways, and throb and 
swell 
' Gainst the bared bosom of the happy earth, 

So comes her spirit in the empty well 
Of my dead heart, and overflows its dearth 

With her all-perfect presence, and the spell 
Of love, as full, as sweet as at its birth. 



IN MEMORY OF H. R. A. 153 

IX. 

Love I have known, and after love the grief ; 

Who knoweth one must soon the other know ; 
Born of one mother's womb, the elder, chief 

Of all that wide domain of flowery show 
Where life begins ; the other holds in fief 

Its exits ever grim, impaled with woe. 



X. 

Self-pleased, self-pained, I write my little songs 
To ease my heart and wear sad days to end ; 

But were she here to whom my pen belongs, 

Then self and song to other themes would bend. 



From heaven of love and light has been my fall ; 

For I was dark, but she was day's best grace, 
Shining on all, but me the most of all, 

As light shows lightest on the darkest place. 



NEW ENGLAND. 



Mountains and wave-washed shore, 
Where men with fate contend, 

Whose conflicts heroes bore 

When nature scarce would bend 

To their desire, are ours. 
The level, endless plain. 

Earth's most prolific powers, 

The middle regions gain. 
Rich in corn, men in might, 

Their's the wealth, their 's the rule 

For us the ancient fight, 

Of dauntless breasts the school. 
154 



NEW ENGLAND. 155 

How empty and how waste, 

Land of mere grain and men ! 
I to my sea-side haste ; 

Thou to thy mountain glen. 
There each, by secret grace, 

Lonely, but calm in earnest will, 
Keep for the gods a place 

By untamed sea and unploughed hill. 



PERSPECTIVE. 



Come not to the gods too near, 
But far off, wonder, fear ; 
Their forms thy fancy dressed 
Are better than their best. 

If thee nature's picture please. 
Observe her distances ; 
Too near, the eyes will blind 
The seeing of the mind. 

Where the calm statues stand at home. 

In Athens or in Rome, 

Their own heaven's varied light 

Gives them their utmost might. 
156 



PERSPECTIVE. 157 

Mind well the circumstance, 
Nor think that England, France, 
Or their museums vast, 
Enwall art's living past. 

The soul is fired with its own view. 
Not halls, but time looks through ; 
Must, ere it find its rest, 
With bended line be blest. 

Stand far, and oblique posture hold, 
Pictures are then unrolled ; 
Nearer, their beauty hides, 
Back, in thy steps abides. 

The pillars of the Parthenon, 
Uplifted, one by one, 
Showed only in their place 
The curved perspective's grace. 



IS8 PERSPECTIVE. 

To sight, the far away, is dear ; 
It follows down the sphere, 
On that diminished line, 
Each beauty's secret sign. 

All love all thought, we most do prize, 
Want distance and surmise ; 
Wherein they may create. 
Than thought or loved, more great. 

Then put not love of one to proof, 
But stand thou there aloof ; 
And what she seems to-day 
She will remain for aye. 

Come not to the gods too near, 
But far off, wonder, fear ; 
Their forms thy fancy dressed 
Are better than their best. 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS, 



159 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 



Judge Portia. 

Vainly I plead my suit with Portia for my judge ; 
Though all the logic mine, all precedents and 
laws ; 
When her beloved Milo speaks my words are fudge, 
For woman weighs the man, and not the better 
cause. 



Rose Alba. 

The earth erewhile possessed this beauteous Rose, 
And for that while the earth seemed good to me ; 

But envious heaven looked down and chose 

My little flower ; and now in heaven I 'd rather 

be. 

i6i 



1 62 epigrams and inscriptions. 

Kindred. 

Dear friends of mine, I know you kind, 

And proud to bear the name I bear ; 
Your blood is flowing in my veins 

And makes the face and form I wear. 
But somewhere, ere it reach the brain, 

And gives to thought its tribute due, 
'T is mingled with another race 

Whose haughty souls ye never knew. 



In Prayer. 

Low bowing, veiled, and motionless. 

Upon the tessellated floor, 
She kneels and asks the god to bless. 

If I Jove's sovereign guerdon bore, 
How would I soothe the votaress, 

Grant all she asked, nay, threefold more ! 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 1 63 

The Vase. 

The flowers are flown this Cyprus glass would fill, 
Those, late our ancient, island rocks attired ; 

All bare. of gaudy weeds our homestead hill, 
And samphire dead, which all the marshes fired. 

One changless flower I set within the vase 
That each inconstant season safely dares ; 

I found it in thy heart's sequestered place — 
It is the same my bosom proudly wears. 



Wine and Poesy. 

I cannot pledge you in the wine, 
But aye the self-same mood is mine ; 
For while your hearts the cups elate, 
The Muses me intoxicate. 



164 epigrams and inscriptions. 

The Exhaustless. 

Oft me a thousand kisses bless, 
She gives, nor is there shame ; 

We try all ways to make them less — 
The store abides the same. 

To E. C. S. 

Trust not the hungry reader's taste, 
Who never wants the food he needs : 

Write words immortal, without haste. 
For who can think the thought he reads. 



Too Late. 

Go, happy flowers, across the summer sea. 

And take the words must be to lips unknown ; 

Go, speak of all that is, but cannot be ; 

Whisper of souls that find too late their own ! 



epigrams and inscriptions. 165 

Good Understanding. 

Hardly one understands me, why I love ; 
They say they do, then laugh, or else reprove. 
Enough ; I do not ask that you should know — 
One knows, taught by her own heart's faithful 
glow. 

Saxon Herb. 

This holy herb hath power to ease 
Thy tiresome way through life ; 
Pluck it by night, when no eye sees, 
And wear in secret ; then no strife 
Of evil sprite thy breast shall pain, 
And lucky stars shall never wane. 



To C. T. 

That song Ulysses heard the sirens sing, 
So full of sweetness and so full of wiles, 

He heard and passed ; but this way wandering, 
How could he 'scape the Siren of our Isles ! 



l66 EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 

To Helena. 

Sail, Venus, with thy shell, 
And pass her isle, but come not near ; 

There sits she crowned and well 
After the hurts of many a year. 

Worthy to love and be beloved ! 
But oh, too late ! Spare, spare thy child ! 

Give her to every art, unmoved 
By any, and to passion blind. 



Hack Writer. 

(to his wife.) 

If I should write with genius' fire, 

With that same fire you read — and sigh ; 
But the proud world, in scoff or ire, 

Would curl its lip — and let me die. 
So I must write what will be read, 

The chaff well winnowed of the wheat ; 
Who writes for bread, can give no bread — 

If men want husks, husks they shall eat. 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. l6f 

POLYCRATES AND AnACREON. 

Two sleepless nights the sweet Anacreon spent, 
What time Polycrates five talents sent ; 
Distressed by anxious cares such wealth to keep, 
Whom only song had ever robbed of sleep ; 
The third morn the gift returned, with word, bare 

love 
And verse were all the goods he knew the care of. 



Across the Street. 

Dear are thy girls and thy boys, my beautiful, 
opulent neighbor ; 
One on. thy bosom reposes, another looks up from 
thy knee : 
Calm is thy face, and gone the passion of youth's 
fierce endeavor ; 
All that thy girl-heart once hid, hold now thine 
arms, open and free. 



l68 EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 



To 



^ ^ 



Never should I have found my way alone 
To secret seats of poesy and art ; 

You came and said : ^' I know not either one ; 
But this perchance will guide you — take this 
heart ! " 



Dedication. 

My little book you may not praise 
For wit or wisdom or design ; 

Enough the plaudit you will raise : 
" I love it, dear, because 't is thine." 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 169 



Lovers' Talk. 

SHE. 

Always the mystery of mysteries 

To me, how like himself God first made man ; 
But now revealed and solved by mine own eyes, 

Which thee beholding see the godlike plan. 

HE. 

Greater the mystery of woman-kind, 

How formed from man when sleep o'er Adam 
stole ; 
Yet something in myself I ne'er could find, 

Till finding thee sweet love did make me whole. 



lyo EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 

The Mausoleum. 

Loving was the Carian queen, 

Daughter of Hecatomnus old ; 
Two years she pined in grief and teen 

For Mausolus ; next brought she gold 
And built this wondrous, splendid monument ; 

Then through its narrow portal leapt. 
And side her husband-brother, more content 

Than on her bridal night, she slept. 



Memnon. 

Me great Achilles slew, Aurora buried ; 
What honor more had life or death to give ? 
So blest, each day renews my life, my death. 
That I may feel at once the mortal pang, 
And immortality within my breast. 



EPIGRAMS ANH INSCRIPTIONS. 171 



Atonement. 

In old romance for many dies the one, 
And demigods and heroes after rise ; 

But in the world we see and know alone. 
The many are for one the sacrifice. 



High Art. 

Let them travel and trade, paint, sculpture, and 
write ; 
They must philander with these who cannot do 
more ; 
But for you and for me, we hold to the height 
Of living and loving by our vine-sheltered door. 



172 epigrams and inscriptions. 

Sight And Insight. 

All that your science knows so well 
Let it be bold to name, and proud ; 

But ask thou not that I should tell 
My dream, in voice exact and loud. 

For ever, over unknown sphere, 
I hover with delighted eye ; 

I make it beautiful and dear, 
But ask thou not the reason why. 



In Spring. 

Did you fall from heaven, dewy violet, 
That always tears so fill your eyes ? 

And can you, ah ! can you not forget 
Your sorrowing sisters in the skies ? 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 1 73 



Ephemeris to Man. 

I was born with the sun in the roseate east 

And of honey-dew I made one joyous feast ; 

I died with the sun-god, and my brief, blessed life, 

Shames your three-score-and-ten with its noise and 

its strife. 
I lived my one day with earth's sweet gifts all and 

sole, 
And though I sipped my fill of each, I left each as 

whole ; 
You live too long the joy supreme of life to reap. 
Ever behind or before your high heavens keep ; 
To you each yesterday is than to-day more worth, 
And each to-morrow fools you, silly son of earth. 



174 EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 



Perseus and Andromeda. 

Perseus who has so bravely fought and slain 
The dragon, resting on the Afric isle, 

The god of love rewards for toil and pain 
With fair Andromeda's grateful smile. 

How black the hot blood through his thick arms 
swelled ! 

Now through his breast impulses fainter pour ; 
Now strength to weakness is by love impelled, 

That the saved one her savior may restore. 



epigrams and inscriptions. 1 75 

Emerson's Parnassus/ 

Some bards are here and some are not, 

Either unknown or else forgot ; 

And some are here elsewhere unknown 

Save to themselves and Emerson. 

But with the Immortals do not class us 
For an idle hour on Mount Parnassus. 



NoMEN ET Omen. 

One name I hide within my breast, 

My secret strength, my secret joy ; 
It gives me all I know of rest 

And comfort in the world's annoy. 
I never breathe it save in prayer 

That my firm faith may stronger prove ; 
And when to name aloud I dare 

Then I shall know I 've ceased to love. 



176 EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 



Deucalion and Pyrrha. 

I do believe Deucalion's story true, 

And Pyrrha, loath, I half believe in you ; 

Yet your grandmother's bones you threw behind— 

Say, are you sure they all were turned mankind ? 

Or was the metamorphose left so scant. 

That woman's breast still keeps some adamant ? 

" Why askest thou ? " Because I know of one 

Whose heart e'en is and ever will be stone. 



Poet's Legacy. 

The Muses take all shapes on earth ; 

As bees, by Meles' spring. 
They danced at Homer's birth. 

And left their sweet — and sting. 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 177- 



Stoic. 

Invincible, regretless, sexless, and passive, 

Unwounded with wounds, in sickness still whole, 

At large when in prison, more free when a captive. 
The gods cannot break his adamantean soul. 



Anti-Stoic. 

Soft, sensitive, wayward, full of hopes and regrets, 
Cast down with a look, only strong with caresses, 

Changeable as water, save when love him besets, 
Wine, Muses, and women, forever he blesses. 



178 EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 

To Readers. 

Come not here for wisdom's key, 
Or one poet more and worse ; 

In thy soul the Muse must be 
Ere thou hear her in my verse. 

I never sang one song alone ; 

On kindred breast I touched the string ; 
In that harmonious tone, 

Loving and loved, I learned to sing. 



DUCUNT VOLENTEM FaTA. 

When the stern fates give their assent, 

What way is that we may not go ? 
To follow after their intent 

Is with the stream to flow ; 
For then, not only oars are bent 

With ease, but all the breezes blow 
To waft us whither we are sent ; 

As they above, we move below. 



EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 1 79 



Pre-Existence. 

Dear child, so young to wear a mask ! 

Thou art not mine, I know thee not ; 
Yet thy sweet eyes do seem to ask 

*^ Hast thou so soon forgot ? " 

Yes, thou and I are of one race ; 

I did not think to meet thee here ; 
So long have fatal time and place 

Sundered yet drawn us near ! 
Never again lose I thy face ! 

Whatever form thy spirit rear. 
Whatever worlds through which we chase. 

Thine, thine alone, to me is dear ! 



l8o EPIGRAMS AND INSCRIPTIONS. 

Apology. 

Because I scorn your common-sense, 

Will not touch the finger tips, 
Unless I draw the whole palm thence, 

Yes, and after that the lips. 
You think me, call me, too intense ; 
Saying, " How can a love commence 
At long love's end ? " Nay, it is swift, 
A perfect-panoplied born gift ; 
And, lover I, must then give all 
Or nothing, when immortals call. 



Jaffrey House. 

I strove to build amid the restless seas 
A quiet home upon an isle of bliss ; 

Where all who weary, wished for thoughtful ease, 

And space to dream the thing that never is. 
And love, which men seek once and after miss, 

Might find a shrine for their observances. 



OLD BOOKS. 



IN WINTER. 



Once more these books shall be my ministers, 

My friends ; they speak the inmost heart of man, 

Not partial in their love to this or that, 

Nor hating all they do not know or see. 

So silent yet with voice so matched with mine 

It seems my own voice conversant in me ; 

Or, as when all alone I walk the shore, 

I see along the unfrequented sands 

Old footprints there and looking large and strange, 

But soon I know them mine of yesterday. 

For either we have lived with ancient men, 

Or they come back to think their thoughts in us. 

Be these to me instead of all I miss, 

The loved, the lost, the gay society 

i8i 



l82 OLD BOOKS. 

Which frolicked round these sea-girt, iron walls, 
And found in them their pastime, and their foil. 
Unasked they came, and sped by none they went. 
But you, ye royal visitants, you come 
Invited by my soul and held as dear. 
You share with me my home, my fireside nook, 
And my best hours ; and you return again 
A thousand-fold, and make my cottage roof 
Most like Medea's house, the arching sky, 
Hung round with every star that setteth not. 
But shines insphered in calm and cloudless deeps. 

Here Milton may have pipe and easy chair. 

And talk with Marvell poesy and state. 

Here wise Montaigne shall hang his subtlest thought 

To some old verse or village miracle ; 

Or tell the rosary of all his whims, 

Until they seem like maxims for mankind. 

As true as truth so true they were to him ; 

And we become Montaignes while reading him, 



OLD BOOKS. 183 

Imbibe each odd conceit, and reproduce, 

When musing of the man and of his mind ; 

As did the Spanish poet, who, in love 

With cross-eyed maid, squinted at thought of her; 

Come, Walter Savage Landor, come this way ; 
Step through the lintel low, with prose or verse, 
Tallest of latter men ; the early star 
And latest setting sun of great compeers ; 
Through youth, through manhood, and extremest 

age, 
Strong at the root, and at the top, blossoms 
Perennial. When culled the fields around 
Still calling up the great for wisest talk, 
Or singing clear some fresh, melodious stave. 
Not sickly-sweet, but like ripe autumn fruit. 
Of which not one but all the senses taste, 
And leave uncloyed the dainty appetite. 
Great English miaster of poetic art, 
In these late times that dandle every muse, 



184 OLD BOOKS. 

Here may'st thou air all day thine eloquence, 

And I a never weary listener, 

If thou at eve wilt sing one witty song, 

Or chant some line of cadenced, classic hymn. 

Here, whosoever come, be always room 
For those old lyric songs all times have sung ; 
The songs that fill our ears in early youth, 
And fill in age, with all the varied tones 
That life and love with them have intertwined. 

So pass the winter days ; and when night comes 

And I, unwilling, leave the one more page^ 

I soothe myself asleep in gentle steps 

Through dim-remembered rhymes and flitting 

thoughts. 
That morn restores with their full meaning fraught. 
And make for life a larger world, a longer day. 



ST. ASPENQUID 

OF 
AGAMENTICUS, 



185 



ST. ASPENQUID 

OF 
AGAMENTICUS. 



Poor is the land that hath no legend lore, 

No myths, no muse, nor music of its own, 

Descending through innumerable years, 

Wherein is stored the life of all the past : 

As on some ancient shrine the pilgrims' gifts, 

In rich array each other overhang ; 

And some do sparkle forth a recent fame. 

Some, dust and venerated age do mask. 

What has the savage left in this new world 

For him who seeks a self-sustaining plinth 

Whereon to rear his modern masonry ? 

He had few fashions that subserve our art ; 

And all have failed that, tempted, strung his shells, 

And thought them coinage of Apollo's mint. 

In his rude birchen cabin or canoe, 

187 



1 88 ST. ASPENQUID. 

In one no hook for graceful ornament, 
Nor could the other breast the seas we sail. 
All eye, all ear, the nature which he faced 
He named with names that still the poet loves, 
Though overscrawled with wild ambition's blare. 
Proud, unabashed, he looked on nature's forms. 
And paid the only compliment he knew ; 
Then soon retreating left the vague surmise 
If he knew aught of symbol or of sign 
With which we tag our modern elegies, 
Beholding but ourselves in all we see ; 
Vaunting the very flowers do give us thoughts. 
And stars are but the ensigns of our souls. 
The savage brought to all an eye, an ear. 
And left behind his mimic, fancied name, 
But not the deep imagined, reflex song. 
The earth revested by the plastic mind. 
But when he felt the prick of novel pain, 
Which the Caucasian hand first always gives. 
When in jiew lands its banner is uplift, 



ST. ASPENQUID. 189 

A pathos thrilled from heart to unused brain ; 
And as the youthful poet's trial-song, 
When every new-born passion brings a pang, 
Most often is a plaint, so his was sad 
And eloquent. 

In that same monotone^ 
An echoed, Ossianic melancholy, 
We feign for him his speech ; so we agree 
The Indian archetype shall front the page. 

I follow on the worn and customary way. 
When deep the snow and few the passing tracks. 
We try to follow those have gone before ; 
Some strides too long for us and some too short, 
We flounder off to make a new, but soon 
Return, and gladly, to the vanguard path. 

It pleased me in this ancient, lonesome isle. 
One wintry day, when all the fields were white, 
Watching, toward night, thro' frosting window-panes, 
The driven clouds pass Agamenticus, 



190 ST. ASPENQUID. 

And o'er the sea dissolve and lose themselves, 
To see arise upon the Mountain's top 
Saint Aspenquid ; no clearer sailors saw, 
Far off, Athene crown th' Acropolis, 
Not all distinct, yet still they knew 't was she. 
The Saint had haunted oft my idle hours. 
The dim, fast-fading shadow of a name ; 
And now I sat to draw his lineaments, 
Ere passed to nothingness and unbelief. 
And while I bent to draw his antique form. 
It chanced there came a sudden light, a voice, 
And for a moment flashed the hero's soul ; 
I listened long, and wrought no more that day ; 
Taught by the vision that we needs must know 
The inner, ere we mould the outward, form. 



The Indian hero, sorcerer, and saint. 
Known in the land as Passaconoway, 
And after called the good Saint Aspenquid, 
Returning, travel worn and spent with age 



ST. ASPENQUID. IQl' 

From vain attempt to reconcile his rarce 

With ours, sent messengers throughout the East 

To summon all the blood-bound tribes to him ; 

For that upon the ancient meeting-place, 

The sacred mountain Agamenticus, 

When next the moon should show a new bent bow, 

He there would celebrate his funeral feast 

With sacrifices due and farewell talk. 

The dusky people heard and they obeyed ; 

For known was Aspenquid in all the camps ; 

Known was his name where unknown was his face ; 

His conjuries, his valor, and his wit 

The trackless forests traversed many a year, 

And made his name a word of omen there. 

Then gathered they from all the hither land 

Of wide St. Lawrence and the northern lakes, 

The warriors of the great Algonkin race ; 

Whose friendship French and English wrangled for ; 

Whose souls the Jesuit and Puritan 

Disputed long what pinfold heaven should keep ; 



192 ST. ASPENQUID. 

For whom the pious Rale laid down his life ; 
For whom the Bible turned in Indianese 
Its ancient threat or new beatitude — 
Turned by Apostle Eliot's patient hand 
In words six-fingered, unarticulate, 
Together strung like beads upon a string, 
And every page a picture, not a script. 

And now the moon began to show her light 

A quarter up the amber, western sky, 

Close 'companied by one small star that shone 

Like point of diamond-headed arrow, drawn 

Between the corners of her silver bow. 

The mountain Agamenticus loomed on 

The twilight heavens in silent majesty, 

A natural throne and sepulchre for him 

Who ruled a natural sovereign there. 

No arts of man it showed, no monuments 

Nor fane, nor the long roll of famous deeds. 

But all was rude magnificence and strength ! 



ST. ASPENQUID. 1 93 

Far to the north the ancient forests stretched, 
Whose thick-set tops the winds might blow upon 
But could not shake their immemorial roots. 
Eastward the ocean washed the mountain's feet, 
And like the land, as yet a virgin waste, 
It beat against the white, embattled cliffs, 
Or swept a plumed wave across the sands, 
Unsailed for traffic and untouched by thought. 
So fresh was nature then ; for the wild tribes. 
Though dwelling here beyond the date of time. 
Left undisturbed the elements they found, 
Crossed and recrossed the land, and made no mark. 
But void as is the sky when stars have passed. 
So empty was this world of man's bright course. . 
Of nature's self they were too near a part 
To think how they could warp her to their hest ; 
And kindly she supplied their simple wants 
Ungraced by arts perplexing, manifold, 
That make us dead to what we touch or see. 
So many steps they are from their first form. 



194 ST. ASPENQUID. 

So dwarfed is man by his own handiwork. 

Not so the Indian's life ; meagre it was, 

Unlit by customs of the citied world ; 

Ruled by unwritten laws, though fixed and kept. 

But he himself was more than all, and free 

From malady for things beyond his reach. 

So the tall warriors looked ; round their camp fires 

Or crouched or standing, now in light or shade, 

As with the night winds rose or sank the flames. 

And all about the mountain's woody slopes 

A veil of moonlit, opal mist upstole 

Festooned across the pine tree pinnacles. 

And islanding the band above the earth. 

With only night and stars for witnesses. 

They spoke but little, but the silence spoke ; 

Men of few words and every word a thing ; 

Impassive, taciturn, yet seeing all. 

And every sense infallible by use 

Of life lived in the sunshine or the dark, 

And conversant alone with nature's works. 



ST. ASFENQUID. I95 

To hunt the fox their step was taugh^to be 
E'en lighter-footed than the fox himself ; 
The hawk's sharp eye was not so sharp as theirs ; 
More wary they than is the partridge bird 
When first she leads her little brood abroad. 
They spoke brief words of what the morrow morn 
Would see, the feast, the dance, the farewell talk 
Of Aspenquid, and laid them down to rest. 

But Aspenquid in thought all night awake 
Was meditating how to frame right words, 
That should forever fix themselves, within 
The breasts of all the chieftains hearing him, 
And be to them a never silent voice ; 
A secret totem, binding deeds to speech, 
When the impending day of gloom should come. 
Sore troubled was his heart to find few words, 
As his laconic kinsman liked to hear. 
But piercing, lofty, going to the mark, 
Like flights of arrows drawn to utmost head. 



196 ST. ASPENQUID. 

And now in softer mood the past came up, 
Filled with the images of other days ; 
Then faded as an old man's past will fade. 
But when the life is lived, the present naught, 
The spirit leaps to that which is to be, 
As one through loop-hole in a shadowed room 
Looks out on light, himself in darkness hid. 
So came the future unto Aspenquid, 
And sharp and dolorous the vision was. 
But crowding thoughts must pass and spend them- 
selves ; 
And as night waned and morning's heralds came. 
The shadows fled his soul, and he was calm. 
He heard the voice, that was to be his own. 
Peal down its accents in the waking sky. 
And one by one. he saw the stars fade out ; 
But they would rise again, and he no more ! 

The feast was ended : bird and beast were slain, 
(Three thousand, so the ancient annals say) ; 



ST. ASPENQUID. I97 

The dance was danced and every rite -performed ; 
And gathered round the summit of the mount 
The stately, silent sachems stood intent 
On Aspenquid ; he over all was tali 
And straight as ash though ripe with ninety years. 
He rose majestic on the sovereign top 
Of his own land, and in that solemn hour 
He seemed to tower above his wonted height, 
As towers in midmost air the stricken bird. 
His locks were thin but raven black and long ; 
Nor yet his eyes had lost their splendid dark, 
But glowed deep set beneath a low, broad brow. 
Unpinched by age his face was firm, and bronzed 
Like leaves that hang all winter on the oak. 
No more he wore the bird's gay-colored plumes, 
The wampum belt of beads and sinuous shells, 
But soberer garb as well beseemed his years. 
Nor had he on the weapons that of yore 
Delighted his victorious, haughty youth, 
The pride of all his friends and dread of foes. 



198 ST. ASPENQUID. 

A staff he held on which he sometimes leaned, 

To fix on them the image of his age — 

Which else his bearing would have made forgot — 

And give his words a weightier memory. 

Then to the waiting band he thus began : 

Warriors and braves, come nearer to your chief ! 

My eyes that once could brook the mid-day sun, 

And see the eagle ere myself was seen, 

Are dimmed with age ; and but a pace beyond 

A misty light seems settled over all. 

Come nearer, braves, that I may feast my eyes 

On your young limbs, on what myself once was ! 

Alas ! I but remember what I was. 

I now with years and toils am all outworn. 

And that Great Spirit whom we call our own 

No longer smiles as once upon my life, 

But summons me away from it and you, 

Seals up the past and stays the onward path. 

To this, our old ancestral council seat. 



ST. ASPENQUID. I99. 

The mountain Agamenticus, renowned 

Of old for feasts, for truce or onset sharp, 

I call you once again to hear my words. 

You know how well and oft in former days, 

My ready deeds outdid reluctant speech ; 

But now an old m.an leans against the staff 

Which once he bravely brandished on his foe, 

And lets his tongue outrun his shrunken arm. 

Yet I so near the end of all my years 

See lights which my too active life obscured. 

With eye intent upon the ground, I kept 

The trail through forests deep, by day, by night, 

For years, one narrow line and one alone. 

But, lo ! I near its end, and see beyond, 

A wider world and things not so distinct, 

Though worth you turn your eyes with me that 

way. 
And would that I could tell you all the past, 
Of all that happened in your fathers' days, 
Not yours, that so you might be wise and great 



200 ST. ASPENQUID. 

Without the cost of being first unwise ! 
But seldom man can take transmitted store 
Of wisdom, building higher for the gift. 
He digs his field anew, and plants and reaps 
The selfsame harvest which it ever bore. 
Much I could tell, the path that I have come, 
All I have seen that you have only heard ; 
All that I fear for you who follow on, 
Or hope for those who fill some future age. 
Whatever makes me wise I would impart 
And leave, a legacy to all my race. 
Howbeit men, grown old and seeming sage. 
Must tell their tale and mingle words of ware, 
To ease their hearts, and to live o'er again 
The days when action left no room for words. 
So I will tell you of my former life, 
Wherein, if wise, you read my last advice. 
And do not mourn because it is the last. 
And being last must show some sign of grief. 
The heart must then its deeper wounds unbare 



ST. AS'PENQUID. 20I 

When sets the sun that brought its hopes and fears ; 

And in the twilight of the soul it seems 

To see a phantom image of itself, 

And speaks as to a long-departed friend. 

But were he here, that ancient, happy chief, 

Whose counsel all his children held the best. 

Obeyed, whatever private mind they kept. 

Then silent reverence would fill my soul. 

Oh, what am I that I should speak to you ! 

I, who being next of kin, nearest heard 

That voice, and never learned to hear my ov\^n. 

And had no need to learn. But he is gone 

Whose tongue was fiery now as noontide suns, 

Or soft as moonlight on the waveless sea. 

It threw its warmth and light o'er you and all ; 

But me, who needed most, the most of all, 

As who must heir his cares, though not his arm. 

Alas ! you cannot hear his voice in me ; 

I hear it only when my own is still. 

Something I speak for your behoof and guide, 



202 ST. ASPENQUID. 

Something for my own self ; to ease my life, 

And to lay off its pains before I go. 

Much rather would I die in some fierce fight, 

And join, without a thought or grief, mine own, 

Than to wear out the years with wasting pulse. 

Ebbing away so slowly, drop by drop, 

I know not whether I be dead or live. 

And I have lived too long for my best weal ; 

For more and more the white men crowd the land ; 

And though I battled them with all my braves. 

And stirred my neighbor sachems to the war. 

And fought them step by step, in hopes to stay 

Their coming, or if not, to die in fight. 

Before they gained these streams and well-stocked 

woods, 
And I should hang my head in vanquished shame — 
In vain ! 't was all in vain ! the shame has come 
And life has been too long for my best weal. 
And though, when my rude craft of tomahawk 
And scalp, long bow and flinty arrow head, 



ST. ASPENQUID. 20*3 

All wiles that fox and hawk had taught to me, 
Availed me not, and more and more the land 
Was filled with these pale children of the sun, 
While woods grew thin along the river banks, 
While deer and caribou still backward skulked — 
Why read we not, alas ! our fate in theirs ? — 
And all the crystal streams were fouled and 

shrunk, 
Or trained to put their shoulder to a wheel, 
Hoarding our sweet waters into stagnant pools. 

And mills and high-peaked ships plagued all their 

course. 
Frighting the bass and flouncing salmon off. 
Beyond the reach of light canoe and spear — 
Why read we not, alas ! our fate in theirs ? — 
When these my fathers' arms bestead me not. 
To keep mine own and hurl th' invader back, 
I laid them off ; and hiding me away 
From all my tribe upon the mountain's side. 
When the May moon was in her darkest cave. 



204 ST. ASPENQUID. 

I gathered all the charms once taught to me 

By our Abnakian wizards in my youth ; 

All herbs and twigs of mightiest power : 

The speckled alder, and the black ash leaves ; 

The moose-wood's sprout, straight, lithe, and livid 

green ; 
Flowers which grow in deepest forest trails, 
With deadly-looking bloom and poison leaves, 
Streaked like the insidious adder's back ; 
The enchanter's nightshade with hooked hairs ; 
The cornel red, and baleful orchis plant. 
These in an osier basket then I placed, 
And over them the cod's two fatal bones. 
The precious stone that saves the moose's heart. 
The snake's shed skin, the eye of dismal owl. 
The brown wolf's tooth, and scalp of white man's 

child. 
Thus day by day, at earliest break of morn, 
I left my hiding-place and climbed high up 
The top of Agamenticus ; the sea 



ST. ASPENQUTD. 205" 

And land lay all before me ; I could mark 

The straight blue lines of smoke unbroken climb 

Above the camping-grounds of my brave kin, 

And far beyond, but still too near ! the homes 

And sails of all the hated robber race. 

Then spreading out my magic heap of charms 

Upon the mountain's highest, tabled ledge, 

I wove my arms toward heaven over them, 

If so be I might touch the Spirit's hand 

And join his curse to mine against my foe. 

With sorceries long and all fierce passions tossed 

I strove to bind his will and hate with mine ; 

Then I laid the enchantments one by one 

Together in an ordered pile, and blew 

A spark to flame, and nursing slow the fire 

That nothing might escape — for every spark 

So lost would lose me some white, faithless face — 

I cast the ashes toward my enemies ; 

And after them an arrow I let fly. 

Hate-feathered and tipped with my own arm's blood. 



2o6 ST. ASPENQUID. 

But all in vain ! for on and on they come, 
The red man wanes and wanes and loses all, 
And I have lived too long to see this shame. 

Once more did I essay to save my race. 
I put off quiver, corslet, and bright plume, 
Hung up my belt and cloak of beaver skins. 
And clothed me like the trading Englishman ; 
Yea more — for over all the priestly gown 
I threw ; and with no comrade save my dog, 
(That one whom I " Exhorter " named, because 
He seized the heels of those who spurned my 

words,) 
And all my goods a blanket and a staff, 
I left my warriors chieftainless and sad. 
To strange lands set my face and other ways. 
I wandered westward, preaching that new word 
Which I had heard when first the white man came 
And asked of us, not hunting-grounds, but souls ! 
Something he said of peace, good-will to men ; 



ST. ASPENQUID. 207 

Whether he meant this word not for 'himself 
But only us, thereby to thrust a wedge 
Between our rights and his too treacherous greed, 
I know not ; but this thing to put in proof 
I preached the white men's doctrines to themselves, 
As they to us ; did they not mean it so ? 
And what was good for us as well for them ? 
For once asked I Eliot of his faith, 
■Revolving if some mischief new were hid 
To work more ill on me and on my race. 
But when I heard the precepts, peaceful, pure, 
First preached to them who for the first time hear. 
While faith still leads, not flatters men's desires, 
A thought stole in my heart and harbored there : 
How this might be a spell to lay the strife 
That my presaging soul forebode must come. 
Yet I, not used to thinking but to act, 
Put always doubt and argument aside ; 
And I spoke words of peace, and chiefly these : 
That they should love their neighbor as themselves — 



2o8 ST. ASPENQUID. 

And all the more if he were poor and mean, 
A savage, as they said, with no true God ; 
Nor covet lands their king nor fathers owned 
But we would give them of our own enough, 
And they should live with us in trust and love 
Teaching to us the arts of peace they praised. 
And to the warriors of my haughty race 
I said : Give up a portion of each thing, 
That we may be at rest and cease to fear ; 
Give to the stranger equal parts of field, 
Of lake, of wood, and trust and learn of him 
How in all ways to be his peer and friend ; 
Thus only shall we save ourselves and live. 
Grow strong together and possess the land. 

So traversed I the homes of new-come hordes, 
And sixty tribes, alien, yet like to mine. 
Guided by western stars, until the sea 
Grew distant and a mighty mountain wall 
Rose up between me and some other world. 



ST. ASPENQUID. 209 

Hindered by this, back turned I on my trail, 
Oft losing, in those lands, untracked, unknown ; 
And then I came where I had been before. 
Where I had spoke the words my heart found out. 
And as I came more near my ancient seat, 
Lo ! in all mouths I found myself a saint, 
The good Saint Aspenquid they called ; for me 
Long passed beyond report of scout or fame 
They counted dead ; but my remembered words 
Were yet alive, and people called me saint ; 
Half scorn, half love ! for they remembered not 
To do the thing I taught, but only words ! 
And evermore the deadly feud grows wide. 
My race decays, and I have lived too long. 
My limbs with ninety weary winters' strife 
Are spent ; my fathers call me unto them ; 
I go to comfort their impatient shades, 
And respite find for all my own mischance. 
And here once more on Agamenticus, 
My old ancestral powwow's sacred seat. 



210 ST. ASPENQUID. 

That saw the waters burn and trees to dance, 
And winter's withered leaves grow green again, 
And in dead serpents' skin the living coil, 
Which still again would change to spiral flame, 
And where not less did I myself conjure 
The mighty magic of my fathers' rites 
Against my foe, yet all without effect — 
The spirits also flee where white men come, — 
I turn to join my kindred sagamores 
And fly before the doom I could not change. 
Albeit all ways known to me I sought 
To hinder English settlements and spoil : 
The ambuscade, the open fight, old wiles. 
The cunning that from nature we have learnt, 
Half-brother as we are to fox and crow. 
Then arts of sorcery, wherein, before 
The shores were ravened so by gold-mad men, 
I had great skill and gained me fame at home. 
And far to east and west my name was known. 
Last hope of all, the white man's boasted arms, 



ST. AS-PENQUID. 21 T 

Love, honor, faith, I turned against himself ; 
But all in vain, and I have lived too long ! 
Now take my farewell word and heed it well : 

Children of day, are these the pale-faced men ; 
Children of night, are we the red man's tribes. 
The heavens are bright on them, and they will grow 
Like fields of maize in long mid-summer days. 
•Yet you will fade before their orbing race, 
As when the hunters' roundest, riding moon 
Bathes wood and field in lustrous, frosty light, 
Then leaves their greenness all a blackened wreck. 
They have a spirit-father strange to us, 
Who, prophets say, this land to them decreed; , 
And you will fail ; yet grieve not, counsel hear : 
Light not the fires of vengeance in your hearts 
Lest that red flame should turn against yourselves. 
And you should perish utterly from earth. 
Nor yet submit too meekly, but maintain 
The valorous name once ours in happy days. 



212 ST. ASPENQUID. 

Be prudent, wise, and always slow to strike ; 

Fall back, seek other shores and hunting-grounds- 

I cannot bear you perish utterly ! 

Though looking through the melancholy years 

I see the end, but turn my face away, 

So heavy are my eyes with unshed tears ; 

And yours too I would turn, warriors and braves ! 

And mind not my prophetic vision much — 

Th' unhappy gift of him who lives too long, — 

But mind the counsel many years have taught, 

The last I give— -remember it and live ! 



. [Note.— About the close of the 17th century the people of New- 
Castle, N. H., were sorely troubled by what they called a stone- 
throwdng devil. The house of one George Walton, a few bricks of 
w^hich the plough sometimes discovers, was the shining mark of the 
tormentor. Some said it was the work of boys ; others, a threatening, 
and punishment of the sins of the people. They who stood for the 
latter cause, did not mean, by the people, themselves, but the adhe- 
rents of the Church of England, and in especial Gov. Cranfield and 
Walter Barefoot, Captain of the Fort. The former w^as strenuous for 
canonical sacraments ; and Capt. Walter Barefoot, the most interesting 
figure in N. H. provincial history, w^as a merry man, a disbeliever in 
witchcraft, and had rescued three accused witches from the hands of 
Puritan persecutors. Parson Moody led the assault against the devil 
and his doings, with which he confused, in the most approved manner, 
"the actions of Cranfield and Barefoot, until it was far from plain which 
was which. The contest was hot on both sides ; the stone-throwing 
mischief grew bolder and bolder, until it continued through the day as 
well as night. Goodman Walton and his family w^ere almost distracted ; 
so was Parson Moody. Everybody prayed with unction, but it was 
more than hinted that it w^as all in vain so long as Barefoot had charge 
of the six brass pieces at the Fort, and Cranfield kept hung up in the 
Council Chamber the ritual of the English Church. These effectually 
barred the passage of all devout petitions. The excitement was great 
and extended through this and the neighboring province of Massachu- 
setts. It is noticed by the w^riters of the time ; and Richard Chamber- 
lain, Secretary of this province, after his return to England, wrote and 
printed in London, a very curious and detailed account of the '^ Stone- 
Throwing Devil of New Castle," or, ^^ Lithoholia,^'' This little pam- 
phlet is now very rare ; only tw^o copies of it are known of in this 
country— one, imperfect, in Harv. Coll. Library, the other in possession 
of Chas. Deane, Esq., of Cambridge.] 



213 



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